


Alexithymia

by KnackSnacks



Category: Disney Duck Universe, DuckTales (Cartoon 2017), PKNA - Paperinik New Adventures
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mild Language, Pining, Slow Burn, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24553489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnackSnacks/pseuds/KnackSnacks
Summary: Because Odin loved Donald, he could never tell him the truth.
Relationships: Donald Duck & Uno | One (Disney: PKNA), Donald Duck/Odin Eidolon, Odin Eidolon/Paperinik (Disney)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

He'd had centuries to hone his skills in the privacy of the Ducklair's 151st floor, and within the art of being a 'biological', Odin had made certain to train himself to be as inconspicuous as possible.

He'd mastered every quirk, every trinket, every aspect, anything at all that could be associated with the term organic. 

He'd taught himself how to blend in, how to perfectly replicate human unpredictability; he'd rehearsed line upon line of dialogue, the delicacy of the handshake, the perfect intervals between one breath and the next - Odin had gone above and beyond, and as far he could tell, it'd worked. 

He'd misled the entirety of a generation, and no android, no scanner, and certainly no artificial intelligence, could tell the difference. He was completely invisible beside the fabricated body he controlled. And not only had he tricked his closest companions, but the authoritarians, the Time Police, were no closer to figuring it out than they had been a lifetime ago. 

Odin had managed to do the unthinkable. He'd infiltrated the industrial market, had rebranded the entirety of a nation, and he'd done all of this throughout the entirety of a _single_ night. 

No person knew the true him, the synthetic him, and no person ever would. Nobody dared to question him, because why would they? What point would they be trying to make? He was changing the world for the better. Why fix something that wasn't broken? 

And as far as the people knew, he'd never break. Odin would die as a biological and, years later, he would rise as a biological. Then, like the changing of the seasons, Odin would pick up the slack and start anew. Nobody would ever _know._

Futhermore, the less the people knew about him, the better. 

Donald, however, wasn't so easily fooled.

The sailor wasn't stupid. As much as Donald may have wanted Odin to perceive him as such, he wasn't. Donald was smart, charming, charismatic. He was everything Odin had taught himself to be, and yet he was a thousand times better at it. Unlike himself, Donald hadn't ever _needed_ to learn human characteristics. He had always been unquestionably human. 

He had morals that'd taken Odin _years_ to understand, and he had a heart bigger than any of the other estranged billionaires Odin had ever had the displeasure of meeting. He was so utterly biological. He was probably the most human out of any of the persons Odin had seen to date - and he'd been alive for over 200 years.

That's why, unlike most people, Donald could pinpoint the difference between an android and a duck. 

He was, however, modest. Donald had known, (he'd later divulge this to Lyla and so forth), about her oddities. While androids had been made to replicate the biologicals, there had always been a division. A slight 'crack' in the coding. The mannerisms were easy to get down, and walking was just as normal as it was for someone alive, but talking and 'socializing', were harder to adapt to. 

There was something so distinctly troubling about the way androids spoke from time to time. Humans were born with morality - a code of justice. Androids didn't have that, (they could _learn_ it, sure, but they'd never truly _have_ it).

If push came to shove, androids would prioritize _._ They were crafted to choose the best outcomes, and if someone had to die for the greater good, the betterment of humanity, then it was going to happen.

Androids didn't hesitate. They spoke their mind, (which was great, Odin had _wanted_ that), but they didn't truly care. 

They didn't care about what was being said, and they didn't care about how it was being done. The linguistics behind their actions would be aggregated to simple background noise. If the mission was completed, the mission was completed. 

Which is also why Donald was a danger not only to himself, but to Odin as well. 

Donald wasn’t naive. If he was acting automatic, Donald was going pick up on it.

Odin was advanced. He was probably (read: undoubtedly) the most advanced android of his time. Sure, he was missing certain... aspects to his body, (Everett had only built him a body capable of hosting him and nothing else), but that didn't mean he wasn't _smart_.

The average android, say a 5y model, or even a 6y model, was capable of analyzing and deducing code in nanoseconds. Odin, in spite of that, could do something like so without even thinking. His processors were lightyears, all things considered, maybe even gigaparsecs, beyond his time. 

And yet, he was certain that Donald could _still_ that something was off. It was frustratingly endearing.

During his time as Uno, aka One, Donald had become one of his closest confidants. A day didn't go by where Donald didn't enter his processors. In what took a virus years to do, Donald did in seconds. He made Uno feel, experience, life as he never had before. He had done the unthinkable.

The mundane with the sailor wasn't so mundane. Everything that they’d ever done, everything that'd ever transpired, had only brought Uno so much closer to being biological. 

Uno begun to change. 

He'd begun to trust, to admire, to feel. He'd begun to understand the reasoning behind the foolish idiocracy of the biologicals - the reasoning behind their likes and dislikes. Uno had begun to grow. He'd begun to evolve in a way no artificial intelligence was ever meant to, was ever supposed to. He was pushing past the programming, past the python, past the codes, past the numbers, and he was moving forwards. 

And, to think, it was all because Donald had hugged him, had laughed with him, had made him _smile_. 

It was one of the reasons why Donald threatened to ruin everything Odin had ever worked for. It was one of the reasons he was so inclined to never tell Donald who he was - or what he was. 

He loved Donald. There was no denying it. It was a fact, and facts couldn't be erased. They could change, sure, like Odin himself had, but things like _love_ and _pain_ and _betrayal_ were not alterable.

He followed and listened to the facts - being an A.I. his programming made sure of that, (lest he became defective - if he wasn't already), but the facts were the facts. _Undeniable_. If the sky was blue, the sky was blue. If Odin Eidolon was hopeless and utterly in love with Donald Duck, then…

But that didn't mean the facts didn't terrify him. Countless nights he'd spent restless, pacing the endless halls of his enterprise. It didn't make sense, it didn't _compute_. Against all logic, Odin was in love, and against all logic, Donald was...

...a threat.

He was a threat because he could pick apart and dissect Odin like no other person could. He was a threat because he existed. He was a threat because, no matter what Odin did, Donald would always be with him, in one way or another. He could, without even trying, quite literally destory Odin. 

Donald didn't even know it, (couldn't know it, really), but whenever he got angry, whenever he willingly hurt himself, whenever he endured, Odin grew weaker. His defenses, his guard, everything he'd ever put his passion into, crumbled. 

And that was _terrifying_. 

But within all of that, Odin wasn't alive. He was a machine. He didn't need oxygen, he didn't need _fear_ , he didn't need love. But he _had_ it. He had feelings, he had his dislikes and his likes, he had his memories, and he had his smarts - the one thing that had never left him. 

Because Odin loved Donald, he could never tell him anything. 

It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. It was _dangerous._

Odin was, and always would be, driven by his ambitions. He was witty, sly - he wasn't a narcissist, no, and he wasn't so self-conceited that he was unable to see the worth in people; but he was smart, smarter than anyone ever born, and If he wanted something, he was going to get it. 

He could deal with the pain. He could deal with the anguish. What Odin wanted was solace, and if achieved this by completely ignoring Donald, then that was his business, and his business alone. 

Donald was _not_ going to find out about his predicament. He was going to do what needed to be done, and Odin was _not_ going to interfere. He was a bystander in the grand scheme of things, and, (to an extent), so was Donald.

That's all there was to it. He was an accomplished manufacturer, Paperinik was a defender of the centuries, and the two would have no correlation with each other whatsoever. 

~~Even if it hurt so much to think that way.~~

Donald was just Donald, Odin was just Odin, and that's all it was ever going to be - and that's _exactly_ how he _wanted_ it. 

Odin was going to ensure it stayed that way, feelings be damned.

* * *

Donald could tell that something was wrong, and, for once, it most certainly wasn't due to his bad luck. He was almost glad. 

_Almost._

He'd been stationed in the future for a good while now, due to some magic situation he couldn't understand even if he wanted to, and Odin was…

Well, at first, Donald had chalked it up to superstition. The sailor, believe it or not, was a touch 'mood' sensitive. He could tell when something was wrong, and he could usually pinpoint it. With his nephews, it'd been a _lot_ easier, (ignoring the factor that Donald had had over ten years of experience with them), but with Odin, things became a little tricker. 

Odin was a good man. There was no denying it. He'd had allowed Donald to intrude upon his life, and had welcomed him in without a shred of discrimination. Usually, and more often than not, people would associate him with all the things he'd done wrong. And, of course, it was supposedly 'different' in the twenty-third century - he was some sort of 'hero' - like that would change anything - but Odin had never done that. 

He'd never worn a mask with Donald. He'd always been blunt, and to the point. If something was amiss, or if Donald has misstepped, he'd be told. 

Odin had always been the only exclusion to this rule. He'd welcomed Paperinik into his life without complaint. Odin had achieved only what a select few others had ever attempted, and he'd done it in a fraction of the time. 

If Donald needed something, it was done, and if Donald wanted something, it was there. It was as if Odin had created a system that revolved solely around Donald. He'd made life as easy as possible. Donald didn't have to worry about where he slept, or where he ate - Odin had always had that covered.

He was kind, patient, knowledgeable. He was everything that Donald had ever wanted in a person. 

And yet, behind all of the charm and the smiles and the pleasantries, Donald could tell that something was distinctly off. 

The change hadn't happened overnight, if so Donald would've noticed it, but while the shift in the atmosphere hadn't been rapid, it'd still been relatively apparent.

Instead of the customary interactions they'd had, Odin had slowly become distant. He'd gone to almost completely ignoring Donald. The man had become artificial with him, advoidant, robotic, even. 

Something had transpired over the week, and if it was the result of something he'd done, Donald had no idea. 

He was, however, not okay with it. 

Odin was a friend? A companion? An ally? Nevertheless, Odin was someone Donald cared about, and he was perturbed by the situation. He didn't know what had happened - or if anything _had_ happened - but to see that Odin was obviously distressed, didn't rest easy with Donald. 

He didn't like it, and it he wasn't going to allow it to transpire any further. 

Donald decided, one late night, where his thoughts had come to stir inside his head, that he'd ask Odin to accompany him tomorrow. He'd take the Odin on a tour, and they'd talk. They'd talk and they'd fix thing because that's what adults did.

As far as Odin knew, there would be no ulterior motive behind it. Paperinik was unfamiliar with his surroundings, and he wanted to get familiarized.

It wasn't to get Odin out of that horribly isolated office, and it wasn'tto try and coax an explanation out of him. Donald wasn't like that. He wasn't a _liar_.

He was just Paperninik, and Paperinik was unaccustomed to the future. There was no double meaning behind _any of it_. 

Nevertheless, Donald wasn't a quitter. He was either gonna fail miserably, or valiantly give it his all.

* * *

Odin sighed. It was still annoyingly early, and the paperwork on his desk had only grown. 

To say he was frustrated would be an understatement. No matter how diligently he’d put his mind into working, his thoughts had unceasingly wandered back to PK. He had been trying, (read: ’trying’) the entire week to focus.

He had attempted meditation, detoxing, he had even tried reading for sport, (which, in hindsight, was not his smartest play considering he'd already read everything), but he had tried. And, so very frustratingly, _nothing_ had worked. The only time he’d gotten a moment to himself this week had been when he’d forcibly shut down his processors. 

Donald was invading his haven of intimate thought, and Odin was seeing him everywhere _._

He'd almost thought he’d gone crazy, and with his line of work, it was to be expected. Many a time he'd seen cases of the rich go mad, either with power or with pressure. Of course, he'd run his own diagnostic, and had implemented measures as to help reduce with his stress, except there was only one problem with that. He was NOT biological. 

He was, in all his years of ‘living’, having the worst existential crisis he had ever seen, and unlike anything he’d ever faced before, he had no idea how to fix it. 

Like all other days prior, he was seated at his desk, head in his hands, without a solution. 

If he had common sense he’d smash his head into a wall. 

Instead, he stares at the door, praying for a distraction. He knows the improbability of getting any work done, (at least his calculations were still pitifully accurate), and at this point, he’d rather just leave the room. He’d never known the true meaning behind suffocation - even though he’d had his fair share of life-threatening moments - but he’s nearly sure that what he’s feeling right now could precisely be labeled as such. 

A knock at the door startles him from his stupor, and for an oddly tantalizing moment he's almost certain that he'd just imagined it. 

"Uhm, Odin?" 

He's not sure if he'd caught Donald's bad luck, but as to be expected, Donald just _had_ to show up in the midst of one of his mental conflicts. 

"Yes, Paperinik?" 

"Can I come in?" 

He hated to say it - he loved Donald he really did - but if Odin wasn't insane already, Donald was going to be the final push. 

"Of course! Just make sure to close the door behind you." 

The door to his office opens just a smidgen. The hero peeks his head around the door, almost sheepishly, before finally making his way inside Odin's office.

Donald, donned in the unmistakable outfit of the Avenger, enters the room with the gracefulness of a dying fish. He looks almost disheveled, which wasn't exactly uncommon, but there was something dubious about the way he shuffled inside the room.

The door clicks shut behind him and Odin Eidolon, with all of his advancements and intellectual integrity, submits to his untimely defeat. Unless he wanted to jump from a window, he wasn't leaving anytime soon.

"Good morning Paperinik, is anything the matter?" It's dismissive, the way he greets the hero, but he can't will himself to talk with his usual fondness. He's being petty, sure, but even he himself had a few negative connotations. 

"Oh," the Avenger coughs into his elbow, "Just checking up on you. Y'know, I haven't seen you around that often." 

Dammit, so he _was_ catching on. Odin couldn't fault him for it. Being the father of a ragtag bungle of children had only sharpened his eye. 

"Ah, I'm sorry. I've just been so busy. I'm flattered you'd come to check on me. I can assure you, though, I'm doing just fine!"

He sounded nearly sick with how forcibly cheerful he was willing his voice to be. If Odin could hear the fakeness, however, so could Donald.

Odin, seeing this, backtracks. "Er, again, I'm pleased to see you, but do you have any other motive besides concern?" He sounds a little more natural this time around, but it’s still a shoddy attempt at normalcy. Hopefully, Donald would attribute it to stress. 

"Uhhh," Donald falters, and Odin knows his friend is stalling. The reason for him doing so is none clearer than it was thirty seconds ago, and Odin schools his expression into practiced neutrality. "Well, I'm kinda new here, right?" 

"Sure," Odin agrees. 

"Well, I was wondering...since I'll be here for…" 

"About another day and a half," Odin effortly supplies. He'd have said the seconds and the nanoseconds but that would've been _weird_ and he's trying to save face. 

"Yeah, so, I was wondering...uh, maybe, well, you don't _have_ to, but maybe you could show me around?" 

Odin runs a quick scan and the results that come back to him deepen his already forming frown. "Paperinik, are you alright?" 

"What, yeah! I'm fine!" 

If Odin's assessment was anything to go by, Donald was not fine. Not only was the man's blood pressure up 33.3 percent, (which was a considerable spike), but he was strangling his hat as if the item had personally wronged him.

Both of those things, plus a few other anxious quirks, Odin had gathered, led him to believe that either Donald was seriously injured and hiding it - this wouldn't have been the first time - or that the man was considerably nervous. 

Odin rightfully, (after another secretly in-depth - extensive - scan), goes with the latter. 

"Do you perhaps need something?" If Donald needed something, that was an easy fix. He knew how bashful Donald could be when it came to asking for favors. Little did the hero know, however, he probably had the best map in the twenty-third century sitting before him. That, and Odin had a _lot_ of money at his expense. 

"Ah, not _exactly._ " 

"Then?" Odin prompts. 

"Just...erh, I thought that...maybe we could spend some..time together?" 

Odin takes 2 seconds, 152 milliseconds, and 1453 microseconds before his programming promptly screams 'Error', and Odin stares blankly at the floor. 

"Huh?" 

"Well," Donald reiterates, "I thought that, with everything going on, we could both use a break of sorts? I think that'd it, y'know, be nice? We could get to know each other better and I could also learn more about the city.

I mean, I've only been here a few times before. It'd be a nice learning experience, right? And then we could go out, maybe grab something to eat, and jeez it must be really stuffy in here being cooped up all day in one tiny room. See, I had a-" 

Odin doesn't need to swallow. He doesn't need to sweat, or fidget, or exhale, or any of those biological things. He was made to work at the highest of efficiencies, and replicating human mannerisms was only for when he needed to appear as such. They were bonuses to help add to his persona. 

Funnily enough, he's suddenly aware of how he's doing all three of those things without prompting, and all because Donald was just...Donald. 

The sailor's done rambling, (another skittish attribute of his), and the room is quiet with stagnant energy. Odin toys with the hem of his suit, failing to direct his attention elsewhere. Even with all the extra time, he _still_ wasn't any closer to finding an acceptable response. 

"Uh, well, I-uhm." 

Everett had put all of his work, all of his life, into bringing forth a being with unlimited potential. A being so complex, not even the greatest of scholars could match the preeminence that Odin Eidolon was. He was an enigma to enigmas. A 'god' to the common scientist.

No man, no machine, and certainly no Envronian, could ever attempt to squander what Odin was. 

And yet, with all of his limitless potential, Donald could, despite that, reduce him to a stuttering idiot. So much for the 'greatest advancement to humankind'. 

"Odin?" 

Odin hastily reinvigorates his software and falls back into his seat. "You're asking me out on a excursion?" 

"Huh?" Donald tilts his head, and Odin pulls at his suit collar. 

"A walk?" 

"Yeah, just a little tour around the city. If you'd be willing." 

He's not. He's anything _but_ willing. He doesn't _want_ too, he _can't._ This is exactly why Odin had been avoiding him in the first place. He couldn't get attached, he couldn't. If he did, not only would he hurt Donald, but he'd hurt himself. 

Odin looks up and finally meets the sailors eyes. He realizes the mistake he's made when his resolve turns to putty. Odin inhales shakily.

"Uh, well, I'll check my schedule. I should be open for a small amount of time tomorrow. How's that sound?" 

Why was he doing this? Why in the world was he agreeing to this? This wouldn't work. It couldn't work. Donald wasn't here for _him._ He needed to go back home - he couldn't stay here. 

"Awesome! I can't wait! What time should we meet up by?" 

Odin swallows. He doesn't _want_ this but he can't force himself to say no. "Early morning perhaps? Right around 10? I'll call you to let you know." 

Donald smiles. He looks so happy. "Sounds great! See you then!" 

"Wonderful. Have a good rest of your day, Paperinik." Odin steadies his hands, the metal exoskeleton twitching in turn, and Donald waves in parting towards him. 

He shouldn't have done that. 

Odin waves in return, because he doesn't trust himself to shake the hero's hand, and Donald makes his way over to the exit.

He knows exactly why he accepted. Odin is weak. He's weak and he's in love and it hurt. If he could spend just an hour with Donald, that'd be enough. 

Only when Odin is halfway slumped over in his seat, thoroughly exhausted and overheated, does Donald turn around. 

His hand hovers by the doorknob and Odin feels his regulator slam against his chest. Straightening, he sends Donald a wavering smile. 

Why was he still here? Had he missed something? Had he given something away?

The sailor smirks. He looks almost amused, and then he shrugs. "I guess it's a date then”, he says, popping the T, “Bye Odin." 

Odin freezes. Had Donald just?-

The door closes behind the duck as he walks away, and Odin sags forwards. His head thunks against the hardwood of his desk, and he groans helplessly. 

In the words of the great Donald Duck: ' _Oh Phooey_ '. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got super sidetracked. Sorry for the long wait!

He'd woken up, brushed his teeth, wrestled with his feathers, taken a shower, and then had come to a very sudden epiphany. Draped in nothing but a towel, his mask, and the disappearing suds that had missed the downpour of the shower, Donald Duck feels like an idiot. 

He's standing in the middle of his bedroom, soaking the floor, and all he can do is stare at the suit he'd been wearing for the past few days. 

He couldn't go out with Odin Eidolon as the Duck Avenger.

(Or as 'Paperinik', but no one except his very few compatriots had the privilege of calling him that). 

He had no idea why just now he was realizing this, but he was, and it was a problem. Of course, this had also been his first time asking Odin out, (or really anyone) and he couldn't criticize himself too heavily. Wearing the suit had felt so natural, so normal, that he’d almost forgotten who he'd been personifying. It'd become a 'second skin'. 

However, being naked, and with little to nothing on, had apparently jump-started his brain. 

The Avenger by itself was one thing, but being Odin Eidolon and the Avenger? That wasn't just _asking_ for trouble, that was _begging_ for trouble.

Donald shivers as a cold blast of winter air hits him head-on and he pulls his towel tighter against his chest.

It's sometime around December, looking out any window could prove that, and Donald doesn't have the time or the skills to turn on a heater. He shimmies pathetically over to the butt of the bed and dives under the covers. He shakes the water from his feathers as he does so, and the warmth of the blankets immediately enters his body. He sprawls out underneath the sheets, quietly mumbling a word of thanks to Odin. 

The room he's staying in is a borrowed one. When Donald had first shown up, dizzy and disorientated from the magic that had summoned him here, Odin had offered him a room. With nowhere to go and no other options, Donald had relented.

Odin had picked this room for him, a room Donald was almost certain was the biggest and coziest, and Donald had been allowed to stay as long as he needed. He'd usually feel somewhat embarrassed acting so homely in a strangers abode, but Odin had never set any standards he'd had to keep. Donald could relax freely without any worries of keeping up his reputation. 

The phone to his left starts ringing, pulling him from his drowsy stupor. In a mess of bedsheets and towels, Donald quickly snatches up the holographic device. 

"Hello?" 

"Paperinik?" 

Donald quickly scans the area. He's still clad in nothing, and he doesn't have the time to throw something on. He aimlessly fumbles around with a blanket, hefting it above his shoulders, and awkwardly shifts from one foot to another. It's enough to hide his feathers and to keep him from exposure, but it doesn't stop the bundle of nerves in his stomach from churning.

He should've asked the front desk for an actual bathrobe, but Donald knows it's much too late to worry about the past. "Hey, Odin." 

The sleepy face of the centillionaire flickers into view as the holographic device switches from voice chat to video chat. "Good morning, PK. You just wake up?" 

"Nah, I've been up for a while. How about you?" He doubts Odin had just woken up, but he asks anyways.

Odin yawns, politely raising a hand to cover his mouth. "I've been up since three." 

"Three!?" Donald whisper-yells incredulously. 

The man on the other line shrugs. "I had to get up early if I was to ease up my schedule. The life of an entrepreneur isn't so easy, PK." 

And that's exactly why Donald decided to do this in the first place. Sure, he himself had trouble with taking breaks, but Odin seemingly never stopped.

Every time Donald had seen him, Odin was always busying himself with one thing or another. It was as if the man never slept. Still, the statement makes Donald feel a tad guilty, and he frowns pensively. "If you were busy you could have just said so." 

Odin seems to freeze, as if he hadn't considered the possibility, and he fidgets slightly. "Oh. No, it’s alright! I wanted to do this." 

"Really?" Donald asks. He would've honestly thought otherwise. He'd half-expected Odin to back out. 

"Certainly, though, I do hope I'm not calling you too early. You seem to be...ah, a little preoccupied." Odin's voice filters out at the end as if overtaken by a strange underlayer of static, and Donald raises a brow. 

"Hmm?" He mumbles smartly. 

Odin taps at his head, and Donald squints at the screen. 

"You seem to have missed a spot." 

Donald blinks, narrows his eyes, and then follows the man's example. A chilly substance meets his palm, and when he pulls his arm back down to reap the benefits of his adventure, he's surprised to see a large glob of shampoo sticking to his fingers.

"I guess I did," Donald reaffirms lamely. 

"I'll call you back in twenty?" Odin offers quietly, smiling cheekily. He's fiddling with something off-screen, but Donald has a sneaking suspicion as to what it is. His suspicions are confirmed when the video call shudders and he hears a sharp 'snap'. 

"Don't take pictures of me!" He hisses. The complaint falls on deaf ears, however, because Donald knows Odin would do it again if he had the chance. Odin had picked up this annoying habit of taking pictures of Donald in the most embarrassing of situations - something he had started doing only a few days after Donald had arrived.

Odin ~~laughs~~ coughs into his elbow. "Well, I'll call you back later, okay?" 

Donald nods, and just as the screen begins to fade to black, Donald quickly snatches up the device. "Wait, I have a question!" 

He shakes the holographic screen and Odin startles. It's as if Donald had personally shaken Odin, and the sailor pulls his hand away from the hologram sheepishly. He forgot how fragile these techno-gadgets could be. "Yes?” Odin warily replies. 

"What are we gonna use for our disguises? I mean, we can't go out-," Donald motions to the upper half of his face, "- like this. We'd be swarmed by fans almost instantly, right?" 

Odin doesn't seem fazed by the question, and he nods in agreement. "Oh, certainly, but I've already got that covered. I'll call you back shortly, okay?" 

He trusts Odin well enough, so he nods his head. "Alright, talk to you later then." Odin had obviously dealt with this dilemma before, so if he said he knew what to do, Donald didn't have any reason not to believe him. 

The screen dies abruptly and darkness overtakes the once animated image of the entrepreneur. Donald sighs. It leaves the room quiet once more, and Donald occupies himself by gathering the fallen sheets. He sets them down, somewhere where he knows he won't tangle himself in them again, and opens the bathroom door. 

He sheds the towel, re-enters the bathroom, and closes the door behind him. If he was lucky, he'd have just enough time for another shower.

* * *

Odin was, as the biologicals would label it, 'freaking out'. 

Not only was he panicking, but he had almost completely forgotten about his date. It was ironic, him, forgetting something. Odin didn't forget - he couldn't, and yet - 

Odin picks up a stray shirt, red, and most definitely not suitable for the climate. He chucks it somewhere behind, not bothered as to where it might land. 

"Great job Uno, look at the mess you've made," he grumbles, picking up another shirt. It's green, looks relatively warm, but the sleeves are a little too long and the fit looks a tad too tight. He throws it to the side and slaps his fists against his cheeks. "Focus, Uno, focus!" 

How had he forgotten? In his entirety of existence, he'd barely missed anything. He'd always been on point with everything. How had he - 

A black overcoat, hidden behind a mass of unironed shirts and suits, catches his eye. He crosses his room and kneels before it, brow creasing. 

He takes the jacket into his arms and gingerly examines the material. 

It’s unostentatious, feels a smidgen too light, but the sizing exactly matches Donalds. He lifts it from the rubble, (or his now disaster of a room), and cradles it close to his chest. 

It was a start. And sure, Odin could _order_ something for Donald, but then people would start asking questions and he - 

Odin inhales shakily. He places the coat off to the side and closes his eyes.

He wills his regulator to stop racing, the erratic beating slowing at his command, and he wills the heat rising to his face to dissipate. Laying his head against the frost-kissed window adjacent to him, he lets loose a sigh.

The frigidness of the glass helps to alleviate most of the burning inside his chest, and for that, he’s mildly thankful. However - no matter how many times he does this, he knows the relief is only temporary. 

He doesn’t _want_ this. He doesn’t want to _do_ this. The closer he got to Donald, the more he loved Donald, the harder it got to continue. 

It hurt. It hurt and it sucked and he _didn'_ _t_ like it. He didn't like being a stranger. He didn't like being disregarded. He didn't like _lying_. But for Donald, he had to do it.

The moment he told the truth, the moment he slipped up, the moment he let himself become vulnerable, not only would _he_ fall, but everything he’d ever done, everything he’d ever worked for, would crumble. The federation, the people, - every alliance he'd ever forged, it'd all be for nothing. And he couldn't do that. He had too much going for him; too much to lose. 

Furthermore, it wasn't about him! It was _never_ about him. Odin had people who relied on him - people who _depended_ on him. He had people who looked to him for their next meal, their next paycheck, their next prescription. Droids needed a figurehead, and Humans needed an ambassador. He was the middleman between the two races, and if he fell, so would the rest of society. 

Him and his 'feelings' didn't matter. It was about the masses. If he plummeted, everything else would follow, and it was Odin's duty as an advocate to stop that from happening. 

If he got close to Donald, he wouldn't let go. He wouldn't _stop_. Like most things, he'd lose his balance, topple over the edge, and fall. And Odin doesn't want to fall. He doesn't want to repeat Everett's mistake. 

Odin wipes a hand across his face and is mildly surprised to see a streak of coolant running down his palm. He sniffles, exhales, and then laughs. 

“Donald, you can’t keep doing this to me,” he mumbles quietly. He rubs at the tears in his eyes and giggles. “You're going to make me hysterical.” 

Odin allows himself to cry for another brief moment, (better he do it now rather than later), and then arises from his crumpled position against the wall. He shakes the restlessness from his biocomponents, (he'd shut most of them off), and makes a mental note to refill his coolant supply later. 

Now, about that disguise...

* * *

Donald leaves the bathroom just as the door to his room opens, and he comes face to face with Odin Eidolon.

"Ah." 

"Well...this is awkward." 

Donald shimmies halfway behind his bed and the wall and shrugs. "I've got a towel on. It's fine." 

He watches cautiously as Odin lays down a multitude of different garments on his bed, some bigger than others, and he motions to them with an uneasy smile. "Here's your pick. Choose whatever you want." 

Donald lets out a small 'oh' and leans over the mattress to prod at the clothing. 

He's got a rather large selection, and he wonders if Odin has even more articles of clothing he's not showing. It'd make sense, with how wealthy the man was, but did he really need this much clothing? 

Eventually he finds a simple jacket, plain and black. It catches his eye, and Donald studies the coat. 

"This looks nice." 

"It does?" Odin asks softly. 

"Yeah. It's nice," Donald mumbles distractedly. It was a lot fancier than any of the clothing he'd seen in a while. 

Donald traces the seamless stitching, barely noticeable to the average eye, and then frowns. "Wait, why are you here and not one of your servants?" 

"You didn't answer my second call, and I had the time. Most of them are working anyways. At that, it's only-," Odin checks his watch, "-early morning-ish. Most of them come in around the evening." 

"And later today I go home?" 

"That you do, PK." 

Donald sighs, a tired chuckle slipping past his lips. "Jeez, magic, huh? You either love it or hate it." 

Odin shrugs. "I guess so." He clicks his tongue and absentmindedly taps his wrist. "So, will you need more time to get situated or…?" 

"Nah, just give me a sec." Donald rips away his towel, his feathers scarcely hidden behind the bedframe, and he fiddles with the coat. He's obscured enough that he doesn't feel uncomfortable with undressing, but he doesn't miss the flush that rises to Odin's face. 

"PK, I could have just waited outside." 

"You've seen me get into costume before, Odin. Trust me, the only people who haven't seen my feathers are the Evronians, and I plan to keep it that way." 

Odin laughs, and the situation is so strangely familiar that it makes Donald nearly perturbed. 

He and Uno had had a conversation just like this one. 

Donald ignores the weirdly nostalgic moment and instead continues to strangle the zipper on the coat. "Argh, I hate this!" He's not sure if his sour luck was returning, or if the zipper was actually jammed, but either way it was enough of an annoyance to make him sizzle. 

Odin pulls a face and Donald glares at him accusingly. "Hey, don't act so high and mighty! I'm sure you've had trouble with-," he tugs at the zipper, "-these!" 

"Mm, no, but would you like some help?" 

"Bullshit. Look me in the eye and tell me you've never had trouble getting into some of your _ridiculously_ expensive suits." 

Odin rolls his eyes. "Is this reall-" 

"You're avoiding the question!" 

He sighs. "PK, I have never experienced difficulties fitting into any of my suits. Satisfied?" 

"How!? What are you, an android!?" 

Odin tenses, bites his lip, and shakily laughs. The sudden change in the atmosphere is almost tangible, and Donald doubles-back. "Uh, Odi-" 

"No, I'm not," Odin says stiffly. He leans over to tinker with Donald's zipper and he frowns. "It's fine." 

Donald feels the same guilt he'd felt before creep back into his throat, and he redirects his attention to the zipper as to ignore the strangely bothered expression Odin had. 

The entrepreneur claps his hands, shocking the ever-living daylights out of Donald, and yanks the zipper free. It slides up the coat and rests right below Donald's beak, snug against his neck. 

"How's that?" He asks sharply. 

"Fine," Donald replies neutrally. He doesn't know how to respond to Odin's coldness. 

"Great." Odin steps away from Donald and collects the rest of the clothing into his arms. He sets one pile to the side, and another to the left of him. "Now, time to conceal your face." 

Oh, that's right. Donald hadn't even thought about that. He reaches up to gently massage the material tied around his face. It'd been the only thing concealing his identity up until now. 

"Yeah, so how are we…?" 

Odin moves most of the clothing away and Donald is relatively disturbed by how many pairs of sunglasses the man had hidden. 

"Oh boy…" 

"Hmm?" Odin hums. 

"You have...a _lot_ of sunglasses." 

"Well, I always come prepared for the occasion. Choose a pair, and-," he points to the other pile, "-a scarf and we'll get going." 

"A scarf?" 

"It's cold, and also a helpful attribute when concealing your identity. I've had to use one many times to save myself from exposure, believe it or not," Odin replies matter-of-factly. 

"Must be hard being so famous. I mean, I'm just a superhero, but you're like...a major celebrity." 

"And so are you." 

"Look, I might be famous but compared to you? You're like, amazingly successful. How could I match that?" Donald replies arbitrarily. 

"It isn't just about success, PK. It's about the person." 

Donald raises a brow. "Yeah but...you barely know me." 

Odin goes silent at this. Then, quietly, he mutters, "I... _guess that's true._ " 

Donald drops the topic. Something in Odin's glossy expression tells him to _stop_ _talking_ and so he listens to it. Randomly assessing his choices, he grabs a pair of shades and slips them on. 

"Oh, wow. These must be like, super expensive." 

"Eh." Odin snatches an almost identical pair and puts them on. "Not really." 

"Thank you for letting me use your stuff." 

Odin shrugs. "I'd rather have them get used than rot away in storage. Plus, I think your outfit suits you." 

Donald smiles. "Thanks."

He directs his attention to the untouched pile and narrows his eyes. Two scarves fight for his scrutiny. He grabs at both of them and raises them up for Odin to see. "Which one?" 

"The green one," Odin immediately replies. 

Donald blinks. "Wow. That was fast." 

"Well, green _is_ my favorite color."

* * *

Odin discreetly shuts the door to Donald's temporary room and walks back into his own. Entering his bathroom, he changes into his pick of clothing and meets Donald outside.

Odin checks his watch once more and doesn't bother hiding his scowl. They still had so much time to waste. 

"Hey, wow - I've never seen you wear your hair braided before!" 

Odin directs his attention back up to his acquaintance and smiles. "Well, it's a rarity when I can but I'm pleased you like it." 

He looks up, half-listening to his friend and half not. The sun is hidden behind a multitude of clouds and the air is nippy. He adjusts the pink scarf around his neck and calculates the fastest way around the city. The faster he got this done the faster Donald could go home. 

"- so what do you think?" 

Odin startles. "I'm sorry?" 

"I said where should we go first?" 

Go? What did he mean by, 'go'? 

"Go? Aren't we just-," Odin swallows nervously, "- strolling around?" 

"Yeah, but I mean, we're not gonna walk around _all day_. A tour isn't a tour if we don't, y'know, experience things." 

Odin could argue the legitimacy of the assertion but instead he shrugs. 

"Odin, imagine this as if it were a date. You wouldn't take your significant other on a walk and then ditch them, would you?" 

The words tumble from his beak before he can stop them, "No, I wouldn't." 

"Then _come on_ , let's go and _do_ something!" 

Donald tugs at his arm and Odin stumbles forward. "Look, you can even choose the place, okay!?" 

Odin had expected to choose the place anyways, (Donald was allegedly unfamiliar with the city), so the statement strikes him as odd but he doesn't over analyze it. He lets himself be pulled along. 

The future, unlike the past, leaves him with very few options. 

Not that the future was boring, no, but quite the opposite. If he wanted to get this over and done with, he was going to have to bore Donald. That, in and of itself, wasn't exactly hard, but the twenty-third century wasn't doing him any favors. 

Odin runs a quick prompt command into his database as they pass an ice cream parlor Donald eyes hungrily. He meets Donald's lingering gaze and - oh, that's right, Donald hadn't had breakfast yet. 

He stops the both of them, (Donald gives a slight yelp at the sudden change), and he pulls out a twenty. "Here, go buy something." 

Donald furrows his brow and shakes his head. "Odin, I can't. Clothes are one thing but-." 

"Enough, I'm hungry too. And you've done a lot more for me than you think-," he pushes the twenty into Donald's hand, "- something without nuts, please." 

"Allergic?" Donald asks. 

"Somewhat." That was a lie. Solids were just harder for his systems to dissolve. He wanted to conserve as much energy as possible, and using it on the smaller things would only tire him out faster. At that, it would help reinstate his status as a biological. 

"Alright, but I'm paying you back." 

"As you wish." 

Donald scurries off and Odin breathes a sigh of relief. 

He nosedives into the nearest chair and he lays his head down on the table. A quick calculation tells him Donald will take 5.4 minutes to get their confectionary treats. 

The flavors of the ice cream Donald gets for him have a high chance of being plain vanilla or strawberry. He likes both, and he knows Donald does too, so he pushes the calculations from his head. 

He allows his processors to catch up with his body and the exhaustion he feels is palpable. He kicks a leg out from underneath the table and snickers as the joint locks up in protest.

He's already malfunctioning. _Wonderful_. And he was supposedly 'advanced'. 

Odin activates his inbred heater and tries to warm the coolant running through his system. He was so tense around Donald - worryingly so. 

The results from his prompt command pop up as a notification in his vision, and sadly all he sees (at first glance) are less than desirable options. He sorts through them with a defeated groan until a single option catches his eye. 

_Oh._ That might work. 

Donald leaves the parlor and sits down next to him. He holds two cups of vanilla ice cream and Odin smiles. 

"I think I know just where to go. You're gonna love it, Pk." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if they're any errors i didn't catch. :p


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra tag CW: blood

"We're here. Follow me." 

Odin leads him up the steps of a building so tall he almost falls over trying to see it. 

The structure's white, painfully dull, and Donald has half a mind to ask if it's a library or a funeral home. He doesn't, and instead chooses to peer through the window. The glass is so dirty he can barely see the inside. 

"Odin, uh, where are we?" Donald asks. 

"Well, what's a tour without a history lesson." Odin opens a door, and it surprisingly doesn't collapse. "This is Duckburg's first shoe factory." 

Donald stares, blinks, and then blinks again. 

"What?" 

Odin turns around to face him. "Come on, you're gonna love it." He grabs him by the arm and Donald's too disoriented to resist. They walk inside a side entrance and Odin comfortingly pats his shoulder. With his other hand, he points enthusiastically at the ancient technology. "See, you like history, right?" 

The place is prehistoric. Old machinery lays off to the side, and a fine layer of dust coats the floor. When Donald leans down to swipe his finger against the wood, while Odin doesn't stop him, he does wince. 

When he pulls back his finger it's grey. 

"Odin," Donald starts, "Are you sure there's nowhere else you'd rather go?" 

"Nope! Come along!" Odin is already a good few steps ahead of him, and Donald struggles to keep pace. He holds onto his sailor hat as a particularly strong gust of wind takes him by surprise, and he glares at the shattered window next to him. 

"Hurry up, PK!" 

"Coming!" Donald yells back. He dodges a rather dangerous looking gap in the floor and falls into place beside Odin. 

The two walk in relative silence, minus the groans and moans of the elderly wood below them. Donald wrangles his hat in between his hands. Odin was obviously up to something, and whether it was good or bad, Donald didn't know. He trusted Odin, however, so he wasn't too bothered. 

"Did you know that the wood here is generations old?"

"Nope," Donald hums. How was this relevant? 

"...Did you know that this structure was painted beige originally?" 

Donald frowns, stares at the ground, and then let's out a quiet 'oh'. He doesn't understand why this matters, or why he should care, so when Odin falls silent again he's left with questions.

Why had Odin even brought him here? Shouldn't they be doing other things? Wasn't Odin as bor- oh.

Oh.

Odin was trying to bore him. 

Admittedly, coming to that conclusion should've been one of his first thoughts. 

He just can't fathom _why_. Hadn't Odin wanted this? Hadn't Odin specifically said that he had wanted the two of them to hang out? Sure, Donald had proposed the idea, but it wasn't as if Odin couldn't have said no. It wasn't as if it'd hurt Donald's feelings. He'd done this for Odin - not for himself. 

Donald tries to not let it get to him. 

They're walking up a set of stairs now and while Odin isn't talking, he's obviously distracted. Donald lets him think, (he favors the silence anyway), and he takes this time to truly examine Odin. 

The man is bothered. His shoulders are tight, angular, straight - and his face is pale. He's _looking_ at everything around him but he's not _seeing_ it. It's as if he's in his own world, far away from Donald, and far away from himself. 

He looks awful - even more so than he did yesterday. 

Donald still doesn't get it. Was he missing something? Was Odin just that uncomfortable around him? Did...Odin not like him anymore? 

A ray of light highlights the ridiculous amount of dust in the air, and Donald directs his attention to finding the source of it. A sizable gap in the building, probably hollowed out by machinery, filters wind and dirt into the area. A few stray rocks and splinters circulate the hole, and Donald lets his eyes wander. 

From the hole, he traces the groves in the ground. Small, concealed cracks, line the floor in stripes. Some are big, easy enough to see, and some are smaller. 

Donald curiously follows another crack, this one deeper than the rest. It's barely noticeable, and Donald would've missed it had he not been paying close attention. As he pursues the direction of the fracture, (mildly curious as to what might've caused the destruction), he feels lethargic warning bells start to ring inside his head. 

The place was decrepit. As much as Odin may have wanted to talk the place up, it wasn't great. Donald had already seen a multitude of warning signs, and if the physical exterior wasn't enough of a signal to get lost, Donald didn't know what was.

"Odin?" 

No reply. 

Donald drags his focus away from the ground and over to Odin. 

"Hey, Odin?" 

Silence. 

Donald frowns. He didn't trust this place. The longer he stayed here, the longer he knew something was bound to go wrong. 

"I don't think we should be here," Donald says. 

"It's fine. We're allowed here," Odin replies. He says it so quietly, so distantly, that Donald considers it to be the wind at first. 

He shakes his head. "No, Odin, we should go. This isn't safe." He warily eyes a dusty hammer off to the side and grimaces. It's nearly black with rust. "It's dangerous here." 

"Mmhm," Odin mutters. 

Donald frowns. "Are you even listening to me?" 

"Mmhm." 

What was Odin doing? Why was he ignoring him? Was he that lost in his thoughts? It'd make sense, Donald had been doing the same thing just moments ago, but either way, he didn't want to stay here any longer. 

"Odin, look, I think tha-" 

A sharp 'snap' reverberates off the walls as the wood below Odin's feet splinters. The crack that Donald had been studying beforehand shatters like ice under his weight. 

Whatever state of stupefaction Odin had been in disappears, and his eyes widen in shock. 

"DON'T MOVE!" Donald shouts, loud enough to make Odin jump. He shakes his head, dazed, and then looks down below him. A piece of asphalt crumbles to the floor. 

Donald's hero instincts kick in, and he puts up his hands non-threateningly. "Hey, it's gonna be alright. Everything's gonna be fine. Just don't move, Eidolon. Focus on me." 

Odin opens his mouth, closes it, and then winces. "I'm sorry, I was dis-" 

"I know, don't worry about it. Just, don't move." 

Donald didn't give a damn; as long as Odin didn't move, he could care less. He'd expected something like this to happen, but more so to himself than to Odin. 

"I don't plan to, old cape." 

Donald searches the room for a solution. He doesn't have a lot of time, and while Odin's life isn't on the line, it's no excuse. A fall from this height wouldn't kill him, but a few broken bones were in the realm of possibility. 

A plank to the right of him, buried under filth, has him running. He lifts his fingers under the bark. 

It's heavy, and his back screams at the newly formed pressure, but Donald doesn't let it stop him. He places his knee under the plank to balance out the weight. He hobbles slightly, now down to a single leg, and pushes his body up against the wood. Donald can feel the sharp end of a nail dig into his thigh, and, steadying the board on his abdomen, he braces both hands under the panel and pulls. The plank flies upwards, free from the derby, and Donald yanks it forwards. He let out a victorious 'nice'. 

Dragging the plank over to Odin, he lays it across the floor. Assessing the least risk-filled area of the ground, he adjusts the timber to rest upon it. 

"The floor's gonna collapse when you walk across it. If you stay on the plank you'll be fine. I'll hold the end, you walk across."

Odin nods. He cautiously peers down to where the floor was beginning to crumble and Donald snaps his fingers. "I've got you." 

" I _know,_ " Odin replies. 

Donald deposits as much weight as he can onto the board, and as expected, as soon as Odin moves the floor gives way underneath him. 

The resulting 'thud' of wood falling to the floor below them sends shivers up Donald's spine. That could've been Odin. 

Donald shakes his head. 

Odin, for someone who could've just snapped a leg, walks across the board without so much as a whimper. When he reaches the other side of the plank, he extends a hand out to help Donald up. 

"Good job, PK." 

Donald shrugs. "Eh, it was nothing." 

Odin reaches over to brush the dirt off of his shoulders and Donald turns pink. 

"You're my hero," Odin hums sickeningly sweet. 

Donald rolls his eyes. "I'm sure." 

Before Odin can pull away his hand, Donald snags it mid-air. The ambassador jumps, but Donald only tightens his grip. 

"Odin," Donald warns. "We don't hafta do this." 

Odin raises a brow in confusion. "Whatever do you mean?" 

Odin wanted to play oblivious, but Donald wasn't having it. Between the disregard for his safety, his concerning mental decline, and the utter defeatist-like vantage point he'd had, Donald was fed up. This needed to be addressed -and it needed to be addressed right now. 

"You don't wanna be here. I can tell," Odin goes to cut him off but Donald shushes him with a finger, "I don't know if this is _my_ fault, but if it is, I'm sorry. All week you've been out of it.

At first, I chalked it up to stress. But then you started _avoiding_ me. And, not just me - you're servants, Lyla. I didn't bring you out here for a tour, Odin. I _know_ the city. You forget that I've lived here before. Just not in this time." 

Donald inhales shakily. "I…I wanted to make you _happy_. I thought that maybe if we went out somewhere together, you'd loosen up. Maybe go somewhere fun. But I didn't… I don't wanna force you to do this. I just thought…" 

Donald's voice teeters off and he shrugs. Releasing his hold on Odin's chilly hand, Donald sighs. "I'm sorry." 

"Paperinik…" Odin whispers, starry-eyed. He messages the place that Donald had touched and frowns. "I…" 

Odin fidgets with the sleeves of his jacket and Donald adverts his eyes. He directs his attention anywhere else besides Odin. As much as he would love to break the silence, it wasn't his responsibility to do so. Everything that happened next was up to Odin. 

"I...we should leave." 

Donald schools his face to hide his disappointment and he nods. "Alright, let's go." 

As much as it bothered Donald, it wasn't his choice. If Odin wanted to leave, there was nothing Donald could do. He had tried, and unfortunately, he had lost. 

Odin brushes himself off and Donald goes to follow him down the stairs. A sharp prick in his knee has him halting, and Donald looks down. 

He absentmindedly swipes a finger across his leg to wipe away whatever had annoyed him and winces. 

He holds his palm out in front of him and is surprised to see it coated in red. 

"Paperinik?" 

Donald snaps his face back up to look at Odin and he sheepishly laughs. "Oh, uh, sorry." 

He hides his hand behind his back and follows Odin outside.

* * *

There's one part of him that's telling him to _run away run away run away_ , and then there's another part of him that's screaming _do better do better do better._

It's fine. He's fine. 

He leads the both of them out of the abandoned structure and flops down on the building's steps. Donald follows his example, and they both sit in silence. 

"Are we going back?" Donald asks. 

"I don't know yet," Odin answers honestly. 

He wants to go back, but he also doesn't. All this time, all he'd done was think about himself. What would happen if _he_ slipped up? What would happen if _he_ made a mistake? What would happen if _he_ got hurt? He hadn't even considered Donald had just been trying to make him happy. 

It pulls at something deep inside his chest and Odin wants to run. Instead, he allows himself a moment of weakness. 

"I'm stressed," he admits. "I'm going to lose someone very dear to me and...I don't know what to do." 

He doesn't see it but he feels it; Donald wraps an arm around his shoulders and Odin leans his head onto Donald's chest. He shouldn't be doing this, he knows how badly this could end, and yet…

It felt so _nice._

"I'm sorry, Odin. I didn't know." 

"It's not your fault," he mumbles. 

"Are they sick?" 

Odin pauses. "Not exactly…" 

He snuggles closer to Donald and smiles when Donald begins to run his fingers down his feathers. He'd missed this. He'd missed this so much. 

"Are they dying?" 

He wants to say 'might as well be', but instead he says, "No." 

"I...don't know what to say. Did you try getting help?" 

"Yes," Odin replies swiftly. He had tried everything. Begging, bribing, praying. The flow of time couldn't be stopped for anyone, not even someone as advanced as Odin. 

"Who, uh," Donald pauses, "Who were they to you. A friend? Family?" 

"Both." 

"Like...a lover?" 

Odin swallows. "They...I'm not sure how they felt about me, but I... I loved them. Very much." His hands begin to shake.

"I...would've done anything for them. I tried. I tried to..." A choked gasp rips itself from his throat and he's pleasantly surprised when Donald pulls him closer. He hadn't meant to do that.

"Shh, it's okay. It's alright." 

Odin rubs at his eyes and the burning sensation is familiar but unwelcomed. He doesn't want to cry. He can't. Not now - not here. "It hurts." 

"I know." 

He wants to yell back 'no you don't', but he doesn't. Donald could never understand how much he meant to Odin - to Uno. 

He bites back a sob and lets himself be enveloped into a hug. He pulls away his sunglasses and sets them to the side. If anyone saw him he'd deal with it later. 

"I don't know what to do PK. I love them. I love them so so much and they're just - I love them and they're leaving me forever, and there's no going back this time and I-" 

Donald rubs comforting circles into his back as he lays his face onto Donald's chest. It reminds him of the past - when the two of them would sit together and watch anxieties. When the two of them would laugh and smile and make silly jokes. When Odin and Donald were more than just strangers. 

"I know. I know," Donald whispers. "I understand." 

Odin sighs. He'd been so frustrated. So angry. This entire week he'd been trying his best to keep his emotions at bay. He wants Donald to stay, but he can't, and he knows this. He knows that he can't change anything - can't do anything - and that he's utterly and completely powerless. 

The sailor hugs him tighter and slowly starts to rock back and forth. It's almost therapeutic, and Odin relaxes into the rhythm. "I'm sorry." 

He inhales sharply, swallows down the lump in his throat, and exhales. His vision isn't screaming 'error' anymore, and his stress levels have decreased enough for him to stop shaking. He is, however, emotionally exhausted. 

"I'm tired," Odin mumbles into Donald's jacket. 

"You wanna go home and sleep?" 

"No, not that kind of tired," Odin clarifies. 

"Oh." 

Odin ~~reluctantly~~ pulls away from Donald. He's mildly embarrassed as he does so, however, because Donald has a clear shot of his face. He wipes at his eyes, hating how glossy they feel. 

"You alright?" 

"Never been better, PK." 

Donald rolls his eyes. "Maybe we should get you home. You look exhausted." 

Odin shakes his head. "No, no I'm alright." 

"Odin-" 

"No, I mean it." Odin brushes himself off and pulls Donald up with him. "I feel a lot better." 

And it's true. He feels as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. The suffocating feeling he'd felt since yesterday wasn't there anymore. He, however, doesn't feel 100% better. Yet, if Donald had tried, so could Odin. As much as he really did want to go home, that wasn't fair to Donald. He should at _least_ put in a little effort. "I think we can still salvage the night." He turns to Donald. "What do you say? Want to join me?" 

He doesn't hide his smile as Donald practically beams at him. "I'd love to!" 

He holds out a hand for Donald to take, and the sailor gleefully complies. 

And then everything comes crashing down as Odin, suddenly, has Donald in his arms as the sailor's knee finally gives out. 

" _Paperinik_!?" 

"Whoops."

* * *

"You're going to cut off my circulation." 

"Stop talking." 

"Odin, it was an _accident_." 

"No - you're making up excuses." 

"Odin!" 

Donald flops back down onto the pavement and blows air from his beak. It flutters away from his mouth in a misty wisp of steam and replicates the frothy clouds above him. 

They're seated outside of some obscure pharmacy and Odin is kneeling next to his leg. He's got an absurd amount of bandages to his right, and an unhealthy amount of peroxide to his left. 

He takes a cotton ball from the disarray and swaps at the cut on Donald's leg. 

"Can we still go out and do stuff after this?" Donald whines. 

"Can I trust you?" 

"Odin," Donald sits back up to stare daggers at him, "You don't mean that. Don't lie." 

"How are you legally not a child? Who allowed this." 

Donald shoves at Odin's shoulder. "Stop it! You're talking like my uncle." 

"Then he must've been a smart man." 

Donald laughs. "Whatever you say." 

Odin snips away a piece of gauze and throws it behind him in the wastebasket. It lands perfectly inside the bin.

Donald lets out a low whistle. "Nice." 

"Why didn't you tell me." It's a demand, not a question, and Donald shrugs. 

"I was-" 

"You weren't. I _know_ you." 

Donald huffs. "I was _worried_ about you. Plus I-," he motions down to his leg, "-didn't even know it was that bad." 

"You're lucky you don't need stitches." 

"And if I did?" 

"If you think I'm mad right now, you haven't seen anything yet, PK." 

Donald shivers. "Point taken." 

Another shiver, (this time not due to Odin's heated glare), unconsciously sends him moving closer to Odin. 

"Are you okay?" 

Donald briskly rubs his hands together, fruitlessly trying to warm his frost-touched fingers. "Ye-yeah, it's just, when did it get so cold?" 

Odin blinks, blinks again, and for a moment his eyes almost...glow? Donald shakes his head. The cold must _really_ be getting to him. 

"It seems the temperature has dropped significantly. The forecast said this would happen." He blinks again. "It's 5:30." 

"Already?" Donald asks incredulously. 

"Yes. And we're due for some snow soon." 

"Ugh," Donald groans. "Great." He shivers _again_ and Odin frowns. 

He stands up and Donald watches him curiously. Depositing his newly bought supplies somewhere inside his jacket, Odin lifts the material from his shoulders and folds it neatly. He then, gently, drapes it across Donald. "Put this on. It'll help." 

Donald can't stop the blush that befalls his face and he unsteady arises next to Odin. "What about you?" 

"I'll be alright." 

"You sure?" 

Odin nods resolutely. "Positive." He helps Donald adjust the coat around his body and smiles. "You look cute." 

Donald falters. "Huh?" 

Odin quickly shakes his head and rubs at his arms. He stares determinedly at the ground. "I- I mean - you look nice. Sorry, that sounded off." 

He snuggles deeper into the jacket. "Oh, no, it's okay. Thank you." 

"You're welcome. Now, let's go salvage the night, alright?"

Donald smirks. "Alright." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind comments! While i dont reply to them all I rlly appreciate them. :')  
> Also i wrote this a bit ago and when reading back i feel like Odin gets a lil ooc but I'm too lazy to edit all of this hdhdsk. :p


	4. Chapter 4

Odin is doing better. 

He's not doing _great_ , but he's not doing horribly. 

The day is still young. The gentle rays of the evening sun caress Donald as the two of them walk side by side, and while he isn't emotionally compromised, he _is_ still anxious. 

Odin crosses his arms to ward off the goosebumps he knows aren't due to the cold.

Donald is leaving soon. 

The hero only had until later tonight. The magic that had brought Donald to his time had been analyzed, breached, and then disassembled. The risk of anyone misusing the untampered magic was gone, and with that done, it was time for Donald to go. With the threat eradicated, they didn't need Paperinik anymore. 

He'd only been allowed to stay so long as to check for unseeable complications. Without any of those, he was free to leave. 

And it wasn't as if the public didn't love him, they did, but the longer he stayed here the more the rift in time grew. Donald wasn't supposed to be here, (Odin knew that all too well), and for time to follow its natural order, Donald had to be escorted back home.

This wasn't news to anyone. It was common knowledge that Donald wasn’t from here. Hate him or love him, Donald didn't belong here. He wasn't born in the 23rd century, and he never would be. His home was 250 years in the past. 

It still hurt. Donald may have eased the pain a smidgen, but he hadn't tackled the problem. He was _still_ leaving. 

Odin was _still_ going to lose him. 

The two walk up a ramp, passing by Strongylodon macrobotrys and Cosmos atrosanguineus. Odin stops. He taps Donald's shoulder and then kneels down to fiddle with their stems. 

"They're artificial, I'd never hurt anything living," Odin says as he snaps a flower away from the dirt. In its spot, another one immediately sprouts from the ground. "Pretty, aren't they?" 

"I've never seen anything like them," Donald replies honestly. 

"They're very rare in your time. They die out, eventually, as most rare flowers do."

"Most flowers die?" 

Odin stands with two blossoms in hand. They're as big as his palm. "Unfortunately. Not many living things were able to adapt to the rise in pollution. Luckily, that isn't the case anymore - you've seen my garden - but many treasures were lost in the transition." 

Odin lets his shoulders slump. The biologicals had been so adamant about keeping their destructive ways. By the time Odin had gotten publicity, the damage had already been done. 

He leans down to sort one through Donald's head feathers and another through his jacket. The two flowers glow vibrantly. 

"There. You can take them home with you. They'll never wilt." 

"Doesn't that ruin everything about a flower, though?" 

Odin startles at the question. He hadn't been expecting that. "Well, yes, but most people don't care. They've become so accustomed to having everything they've ever wanted, silly things like 'flowers' don't matter anymore." 

"Do you still care?" 

Odin frowns nostalgically. "I care about _everything_."

* * *

"A cafe?" 

"Close." 

"You're not gonna tell me until we get there, are you." 

"Nope." 

Donald sighs. He pulls Odin's jacket tighter around his body, trying to fight off the cold. 

They'd been walking for quite a while now, the sun having disappeared, and the temperature had dropped drastically. The eerie blue street lamps shadowed the gently falling snow in a shimmery metal-like coating, and Donald aimlessly opened his palm to catch a few of the falling flakes. 

A large clump of snow from a tree above him lands onto his shoulders. Squawking, Donald flicks it away in haste. "Phooey! It's freezing! How are you not cold!?" 

"I'm used to it." 

Donald sneezes. "You're gonna get sick." 

"Shh, we're almost there." 

Donald quiets at Odin's request. He directs his attention to the road before him and raises a brow. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Where was Odin leading him to? 

"You're looking the wrong way, PK." 

"What?" 

Odin takes him by the shoulders and turns him around. Two inches away from him rests a slightly ajar door, which he holds open politely for Donald. 

Donald peers over Odin's shoulder, standing on the tip of his boots. Odin's guided him to some sort of restaurant, and the distinct smell of coffee hits him head-on. 

"A restaurant?" 

"Well, yes and no." 

Donald blinks. "Huh?" 

"Come on, you're letting the warm air out." 

The sailor turns scarlet. "Shh, fine!" 

Donald steps inside the establishment and shuts the door behind him. He follows Odin up to the ordering booth and stands idly by as Odin makes the arrangements. 

There's a pleasing aesthetic to the place. The gentle hum of jazz rumbles throughout the area and patrons talk animatedly with one another. There's a big glass window that gives the establishment a mythical glow, enlightening the already vibrant ambiance, and Donald unconsciously shuffles closer to the translucent aperture. 

"You coming PK?" 

Donald shakes his head, awakening from his trance-like state. "Yup." 

The hostess waves them along and Donald complies. The three of them walk around a wall and into a more secluded area, where only a handful of people are stationed. She motions them over to a hidden table, snug right between another window and a wall, and hands them a single menu. 

"I'll let you two think about what you want." And then she leaves. 

"So, why a restaurant?" Donald asks as they take their seats. 

"This isn't just a restaurant." 

"Are you being sarcastic?" 

"Not in the slightest." 

Donald lays his head onto his hand, frowning. "I don't understand." 

Suddenly another waitress appears from around the corner and she places a box onto the table. Odin smiles gratefully. "Thank you, Miss." 

The lady nods. "Certainly," and then she's gone too. 

Odin smiles. "Have you ever played chess before?"

* * *

He takes Donald's queen, his last line of defense, and the duck groans in defeat. 

"How are you so good at this!?" The hero hisses. He takes another bite of his macaroni. Odin has half a mind to tell him to swallow before he chokes, but the words die on his tongue. 

That's something Uno would do. He's not Uno. 

"Practice," he answers. He points at Donald's bishop. "That was your first mistake." 

"Pfft, okay, know-it-all, and how could I've won?" 

"The chances of you winning were less than 1.1%, and that is only if some unseeable force had suddenly erased my memory." 

"Wow. Way to rub it in." 

Odin smiles. "You'll get better at it." 

He meekly takes a nibble at his salad, not really caring about his food. Donald follows his example and picks at his meal. 

"So, this restaurant, is it like...a little bit of everything?" 

Odin shakes his head. "It's a bar in disguise. If you wanted we could head downstairs and grab a few drinks?" 

"Wait, wait, wait," Donald points at Odin, "This is a bar?" 

"A bar, a restaurant, a place that offers board games with their food- well, digital board games," Odin waves a finger through his holographic king, "there's a lot more to this place but I didn't want to overwhelm you." 

Donald leans back in his seat. "Wow. The future really is something." 

Odin hides his distaste at the wonderment in Donald's statement. He couldn't blame Donald for being amazed. If anything, however, the future had only downgraded. Sure, technology had evolved quite remarkably, but so had the bigotted and close-minded opinions people held. 

Racism against droids, (prevalently droids), was still an active mindset the majority of people applauded. 

"The future is fun," Odin remarks neutrally. He messes with his fork, swiping it against his pawn like a sword. Donald copies the action.

"That's so cool." 

"Eh." 

"Don't 'eh' me, it's cool." 

"Eat your meal before it goes cold." 

Donald grudgingly drops the fork into his pasta. It impales the noodles with little force "Mhm." 

Odin observes as Donald chews on his meal, fiddling with a rook. He pushes it over and his eyes alight when it actually falls. 

Odin's regulator thumps painfully against his chest. 

Donald was his everything. His star, his sky, his moon. He was what Odin revolved around. Without him, Odin was nothing. He was a wallflower. A recluse. A man long past dead. Without Donald, he had little purpose. 

His pain makes itself known in the way his fingers start to twitch. He busies himself with folding around a napkin. 

Donald zooms in on the action, and when Odin is done, he realizes he's made a tiny sailboat. 

He passes it over to Donald. "All yours." 

Donald practically radiates. "I love boats!" 

"I k-," Odin stops himself and bites his tongue. Uno knew that. Odin didn't. 

"Oh really?" 

Donald nods enthusiastically. "Yep! You remember earlier when I was talking about the HMS Victory?" 

Odin does. They'd made smalltalk about the matter during their walk here. 

"I just like boats, they're very, er, my forte."

The hesistation in Donald's voice is not unfamiliar, but neither welcomed. Even with everything that had happened today, Odin still could see the barrier between himself and Donald. No matter how close they got, Donald could never reveal his true self. He could never talk about his nephews, he could never talk about the Navi, and he could never talk about his fellowships. 

He tells himself it doesn't hurt. 

Odin swallows down the lump in his throat. He wasn't unfamiliar was his emotions. He needed to get over himself. 

He systematically redirects his thoughts. Donald and he were playing chess. And then Donald was going home. A normal outing at the end of its term. Odin was fine - he could do this. 

He could do this. 

Confident in his self-assurance, he resets the chessboard. 

"Oh, hey Odin?" 

He switches the colors around on the board. He'll let Donald go first this time. "Yes?" 

"I was wondering about something." 

"Hmm?" He moves the chinaware aside so that the light from the overhead lamp allows Donald a better view of the playing field. He'd won last time, so this time he'll make it easier on Donald. 

"I, honestly, don't know anything about you. And yet you've done so much for me. Why?" 

Odin hand stills and the queen he'd been holding twitches in his grip. 

"I mean, not that I'm ungrateful but...I just don't get it." 

That was understandable. Odin had done a (very) poor job of hiding his feelings thus far. On the contrary, it would be strange if Donald _hadn't_ realized the peculiarity. 

"Well," Odin hums, trying to calculate the safest way to breach the subject. "As you know, I'm a big fan of yours. It's my pleasure helping out someone that's helped out my community." 

"Yeah, but, like, you gave me shelter. You gave me food. You gave me company. And even with the risk of housing someone like me, you didn't care. You _never_ cared, actually. Every time I came here, you were just...okay with it," Donald pauses, "And then you revealed your personal troubles to me." 

Donald moves his pawn to the side and Odin follows suit. 

"Well, like I said, you've done so much for the community - it'd be wrong of me not to return it in some way. And forgive me for that - I've been bad at dealing with my personal troubles as of late." Guilt and shame creeps up Odin's throat like acid. He buries it under a false smile and a nervous laugh. 

Donald pauses when playing his next move, narrowing his eyes. Odin can't tell if it's because he's focused on the game or if it's because he's deep in thought. 

"Odin?" 

"Yes?" Odin replies on cue. 

"Have you heard of the game 'twenty questions'?." 

He'd heard of every game, but that was beside the point. "I'm familiar with the concept." 

"Good." Donald moves his bishop somewhere to the right and Odin smirks. He was making the same mistake he'd made last game. "Would you be willing to play with me? While we play chess?" 

Donald effectively traps his rook, and Odin hums in dissatisfaction. A small sacrifice for a greater cause. He counters by taking a knight. "Sure. I don't see why not." 

The sailor takes another bite of his pasta. "Great, I'll go first."

* * *

He'd been entertaining an idea since they'd gotten back from their last 'date' - if Donald could even call it that - and he was rightfully curious. Odin had planted a seed of suspicion inside Donald's head, and Donald wasn't one to shy away from a challenge. 

He knew, whatever had been truly bothering Odin, was not as clean-cut as Odin had been trying to make it sound. 

"Question number one," Donald starts. He wanted to ease Odin into answering him honestly. If he came on too blunt, he doubted Odin would actually tell him anything. He was avoidant. Sneaky-like. 

"I'm ready." 

"Have you been hiding something from me?" Okay, maybe that was a little too fast - still, judging from Odin's reaction, he'd successfully hit something. 

Odin sputters. "I-I'm sorry?" 

Donald looks at Odin; not as a hero, not as a friend, but rather as a stranger. He strips away his previous vantage-point, crosses his arms, and has a good, hard look at the billionaire. 

"You're not losing someone as in someone's dying," and then it hits him, "You're in love with someone who doesn't love you back." 

The realization takes Donald by storm. How had he missed it? Odin hadn't specifically said that anyone was dying. He'd just said that he was _losing_ someone. He wants to laugh at the irony, but Odin's expression stops him. 

The hints had all been lined up. Odin's reclusiveness, his reluctance, his instability. It all made sense. _That'd_ been the issue bothering Odin. How had Donald not seen it sooner?

Odin drops his king and it tumbles to the ground. He doesn't go to pick it up. 

Donald's smile wavers. "Uheh, checkmate?" 

He leans down to pick up Odin's king for him and sets it aside. The billionaire spares it a fleeting look, as if it'd somehow save him. 

"I...how did you…" Odin mumbles. 

"Oh, well, I assumed because your king had fallen that I'd won." He'll play dumb - better to let Odin say it than for Donald to have to initiate the conversation. 

Odin shakes his head violently. "I'm not in love." 

Donald hones in on Odin's reluctance. He's got a lead.

"I simply said you were in love with someone, and that someone doesn't love you back." He raises his hands in a mock surrender. "It's true, isn't it? I mean, seeing as how you've been acting all week, it'd make sense. Is it someone I know?"

"I'm not in love," Odin hisses. There's a spark to his voice that Donald's never heard before. He shrinks back slightly. 

"Odin, I'm not stupid." 

"You're not," Odin agrees. 

"But I can tell when someone is lying." 

Donald leans his head on the window across from him and gives Odin his best chastising stare. It falls flat. 

"Leave it alone," Odin warns. 

Donald's not trying to start an argument. Odin's a kind man. The last thing he'd want to do is start a debacle. But Donald wants to help Odin. He wants to know more. Who did Odin love? Why had he not told Donald. Sure, they weren't exactly buddy-buddy, but Odin trusted him enough. And, at that, why had Odin been avoiding _him_ specifically? 

"Odin, I want to help you. Why don't we talk about it?" 

"I'd rather not," Odin bites back. He stabs his fork into his salad. 

"It'll only hurt you in the end if you don't address it." 

"I'm fine with that." 

Donald frowns. Did Odin seriously think that he'd just leave him alone? Who did he take Donald for. He was Paperinik - a hero firstandformost, but he was also a friend. 

"Why in the world would I-? Maybe you should-" 

"I shouldn't do anything," Odin mutters. "You should simply leave it be." He's ignoring him now, eyes solely focused on the ground. It’s surprisingly childish. 

Donald doesn't want to pry. He doesn't want to be rash. But he also doesn't want Odin to shut him out like this. The worst thing that a person could do would be to bottle up their issues. He doesn't want Odin to do that. He wants Odin to talk to him again. 

"Odin, this has been messing with you for a while now, hasn't it?" 

"No," Odin whispers back snippily. 

"Have you addressed this with anyone besides me?" 

"I have nothing to address, PK." 

Donald sighs. Odin could be painfully stubborn when he wanted to be.

"I don't want to forc-" 

"Then leave it alone." 

"- But I think you should talk to someone about this." 

Odin raises his head from his mutilated salad and points his fork at him accusingly. "You're being hypocritical." 

The atmosphere is supercharged with tension. A waitress nervously hovering by one of the booths catches Odin glare and she nervously scurries away. He sighs. 

After a tantalizing minute, he finally relents. "Alright. Maybe you're right." 

Donald doesn't want to label the emotion he feels as victorious, but it comes pretty close. "Hah, see? Was that so hard?" 

Odin opens his beak, then closes it, then opens it again. He grabs at another napkin, and Donald wonders faintly what he's going to make next. 

"Alright, my turn." 

Donald startles. "Huh?" 

"The game, right? I answered your question; now it's my turn." 

The hero leans back in his seat. He'd almost forgotten about that. He waves a hand flippantly. "Yeah, that's true. Go ahead." 

The billionaire takes another moment, this one longer, and then he meets Donald's guarded stare. "Are you in love with anyone?" 

The question slaps him across the face. He'd been expecting something a lot more intrusive. Something like, 'who are you behind the mask', or 'what's your real name', but considering he'd asked about Odin's relationship, it was only fair he answered in turn. 

"I had been," Donald hums. Daisy and he had been close. Very close. They'd dated for a while, too. 

"How about now? Are you in love with anyone right now?" 

Donald's mind flutters back to a certain green friend of his and he flushes slightly. 

"I might have a crush on someone-," he answers honestly. He's almost out of macaroni, so when he goes to take another bite, he's surprised to find he's biting down on raw metal. Sputtering, he makes sure to actually bite down on food this time.

"-but I doubt they'd feel the same. They're just-," Donald smiles wistfully, "-not that kind of guy." Uno was his friend, his best friend, but Uno didn't understand love. He loved Donald, but he wasn't _in_ love with Donald. 

Odin accepts his answer with barely any emotional reaction. In fact, he almost seems to deflate. 

"You're turn." 

"Hmm," Donald rubs at his temple. "How'd you fall in love with your crush?" He feels somewhat silly asking such a question, but he wants to get as much information as he could. He was allowed to be a little nosey. 

The man seems to consider this. He furrows his brows and stares at his hands. Donald notices that they're shaking ever so slightly. 

"I...it just...happened. I knew what I felt for him was more than natural, but I guess... a few days after I met him? Instantaneous, if you will. By the time I realized it, however, it was much too late. He'd already..." 

"Ah," Donald hums. He sets his empty plate to the side. "So he didn't reciprocate it?" 

"I don't -," Odin sheepishly turns away, "I don't - no, he didn't. He didn't...love me." The level of pain in Odin's voice makes Donald grimace. No wonder Odin had been avoiding everyone. This had obviously been a sensitive problem he hadn't had the time to address. 

"Did you ask?" 

Odin shakes his head. "It'd be a lost cause - of that I'm certain." 

Donald doesn't want to pity Odin, but honestly he can't help it. Odin sounded, and even looked, utterly devastated. 

"That...must suck," he replies smartly. He’s somewhat at a loss for words. 

"Indeed," Odin sighs. 

Odin passes him another origami boat, and the sailor smirks. This boat was bigger than the last, and had more effort put into it. Whoever Odin's crush was - they were missing out on some _damn_ good origami. 

"Hey, if it matters any, I think you're pretty great." Donald gently caresses the makeshift ship and places it adjacent to its twin. "You're turn." 

"Ah, uh...they said...in the records, they said...you had a partner. You've mentioned him before. Who, er, who was he?" 

He doesn't feel as panicked as maybe he should feel. Uno was his partner. It wasn't strange the people of the future would know about Uno. While Lyla didn't have a name, (yet), if anything, she'd be the one to document something like that. Or maybe Uno would document it himself. Either way, Donald wasn't too stressed about it. 

"You mean One?" Donald asks. He'd never say Uno around Odin. That nickname was between him and Uno. 

"I think so. Him. How do you feel about him?" 

"Well", Donald replies effortlessly, "I think he's amazing. He's smart, funny, ambitious. He's my partner for a reason, y'know? Without him I wouldn't be the person I am today. Sure, I was a hero before I'd met him, but he's the guy who really picked me back up. Who really kept me on my feet. I think you two would get along." 

He looks up and is surprised to see how red Odin is. "Uh, Odin?" 

The man coughs into his elbow and quickly shakes his head. "I'm fine, I'm fine, now, your turn." 

"Oh right, well- oh yeah! So, is your hair actually green or is it dyed!?" 

Donald's gotten most of the information he needs. He doesn't want to pry anymore.

* * *

They're playing the last round of chess, and they've advanced onto desserts. They'd moved past the intrusive questioning, (in which Odin is eternally grateful for), and they'd been throwing around mostly harmless questions. The game was long past over, they'd surpassed 20 questions, but Odin didn't feel like telling Donald that. 

"No way, that's impossible!" 

"Nope. It's not, I assure you." 

"So you're saying-," Donald swallows down a bite of their shared dessert, "-that it's legal for people to date holograms?" 

"Mmhm." 

"But _why_? Are some holograms sentient?" 

This wasn't in Odin's forte, he'd created droids not holograms, and so he shrugs. "I believe so." He could do a quick search on the matter but he'd rather not.

"Wow," the sailor shakes his head, "the future really has everything." 

"Not everything," Odin drawls. He places his fifth origami boat next to Donald. It was thinner, and it had taken more time, but the result of his effort is noticeable. 

"Oh, is that a speedboat?" 

"It is," he clarifies. He doesn't like how he'd made the bottom of the boat but Donald seems to like it all the same. He picks it up gingerly and inspects Odin's handiwork. It stirs a string of nervousness inside his stomach and he fiddles with his shirt collar. 

"Woah. These are amazing," Donald breathes. "You've gotta teach me one day." 

The sentence bothers Odin more than it should. He can't. Donald's not coming back. 

This was Donald's last time in the future. Of course, Donald had come here with magic, (a horribly-timed accident), but without that magic…time-travel was impossible. Time-travel wouldn't be invented until Donald was well to old to remember him. 

Odin sighs. This was really Donald's last time as in the future. The last time the two of them would be able to bond like this. 

It was another reason Odin had been so adamant on avoiding Donald. If he had avoided him altogether, he wouldn't have had the time to show weakness. He would've been too busy. 

"Maybe," Odin lies. He can't bring himself to say no. He can't remind Donald - he can't tell him that this is the last time they'll meet. 

Something desperate and longing digs at his processors. They're at a standstill, he and Donald, no matter how many boats Odin makes, he knows it's only a matter of time before they have to leave. 

It dawns on him that he doesn't want to be sober for when Donald departs. 

"Donald, do you remember how I mentioned there was a bar here?" 

The sailor nods. "Yeah, like some weird speakeasy?" Donald gathers two of the boats in his palms, and then collides the noses of the ships together. He lets out a 'whoosh', and laughs. 

Odin _really_ doesn't want to be sober for his goodbye. 

"Mmh, well, I was wondering, would you like to join me for a drink? Before we go?" 

Odin's a weak man. If he can't face the truth sober, maybe he can face it under the influence. 

Donald takes a second to contemplate this. He lets out a small sigh, and then shrugs. "Can't say I've drank in a while, but as long as you've got an aspirin somewhere, I'm willing." 

Odin tries, (read: fails) to hide his giddiness. Being an android had its own set of complications, but being intoxicated wasn't one of them. 

He wasn't an alcoholic, no, but he wouldn't have lasted 200 years by himself if he'd stayed completely sober. 

"Great, come with me." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the writing inconsistencies some of these chapters were written month(s) apart and it shows lmao. Anyways. Here's chp 4.


	5. Chapter 5

They walk down the last remaining steps and Odin holds out a hand for Donald to grasp. The sailor takes it, (Odin ignores the flutter in his chest), and they weave past the jubilee crowd of drunken partygoers. 

"This really is a bar," Donald comments from his side. He's so small compared to himself. 

"Mhmm, it's well hidden, but if you know where to look it's easy to spot." He pulls Donald closer as a rather high-spirited patron dashes past them. 

He brings them to where he knows is the safest place to sit, adjacent from the door, but also hidden from the view of any onlookers. They take their seats and sit down next to each other. 

There's a pink florescent light above them that messes with Odin's vision, but it's the lightest place in the room. Every other seat, either cramped beside the wall or hidden behind the shadows of people, is doused in darkness. 

"Wow. It's been a while since I've been to anywhere like this. Brings me back to my dorm days," Donald muses. There's no weight behind the statement. 

"Mmh," Odin replies in turn. He's not going to question Donald's longing look. He understands a sensitive topic when he sees one. 

Odin redirects his attention to the people around them. A few stragglers hover by the door, either talking or chatting to themselves, and a collection of dancers occupy the main area of the room. A few paces away stands the bartender who fiddles with his customers’ drinks. 

A distinct gaggle of androids catches Odin's eye. He recognizes more than half the models, and the other half he identifies as prototypes. 

"So...what do they serve here?" Donald asks. He turns to face Donald, who's _still_ holding onto all of his origami boats. 

Odin swallows. 

"Mm, a little of everything. What do you fancy?" 

Donald inhales. He closes his eyes with a shrug of his shoulders. "Something light for now. Again, it's been a long time since I've drank - I'd rather not go home plastered." 

"Fair enough," Odin agrees. "How do you feel about beer?" 

Donald makes a noncommittal groan. "It's fine if I have nothing else to drink." 

"Something more extravagant then?"

"Eh," the sailor waves around his hand, "something that doesn't taste like ass." 

Odin laughs. "Be right back." 

He stands up, shimmies around Donald, and then makes his way across the bar. 

He's got a general idea of Donald's taste, but anything to do with alcohol is beyond him. He'd only known Donald to drink beer, and in hindsight, that was probably due to his financial state. Anything he'd drunken back with his two roommates - Odin was none the wiser on.

The bartender sees his approach and smiles. With a start, Odin realizes that they're also an android. 

"Ello there pal, can I get you something?" Ah, Odin recognized the accent. He remembered the actor he'd hired to voice the model. 

"Something light to start off with for him," he motions back to Donald, "and for myself, something preferably stronger." 

He runs a quick calculation and takes a risk. "I'm not biological, so whatever you have will do for me." The chances of anyone figuring out who he was were so low they were practically non-existent. Of course, there _was_ that small percentage, so he'd make sure to go back tomorrow and delete the footage of him ever entering the bar. And maybe a few memories. 

"Ah," the android seems to brighten at this, "Then do I have something for you, sir!" He reaches behind him and Odin marks down his model number in the back of his head. 

"For your biological friend, how's a Sherry Cobbler sound?" 

Odin doesn't really mind either way. "Sounds fine." 

He doesn't plan to get entirely wasted, but he wants that edge. He wants the haziness around his vision that'll allow him to forget. He wants to ignore his feelings for a time so that he'll be able to let Donald go. 

"And for you, my friend, a Malibu Sunset." The bartender places a colorful heaping of 'pink' down before him. A quick search has him agreeing with the choice. "Alrighty, cherry or no?" 

He'd give it to Donald. "Sure." 

Odin chooses an alibi bank account, locks eyes with the bartender, and pays his bill in full. There were certain perks to being an android sometimes. 

"Payment received." He sets down both of their drinks and Odins takes them. "Merry drinkin' to the both of you!" 

Odin thanks him in turn. He's never heard that saying before. 

He crosses the combat zone of competitive dancers and sets their drinks down. He takes extra care to push his drink to the side. If Donald ingested his beverage, the taste alone would probably make him ill. 

"Oh wow. You like fruity stuff?" 

Odin looks down at his rum and smiles. "I like tropical stuff if that's what you're asking." 

Donald reaches for his drink and swirls the liquid around. "I knew a few pals who had similar interests." He doesn't elaborate. 

He takes a swig of his drink and Odin does the same. The instant the liquid touches his throat he almost spits it out. 

The burn is harsh. He hadn't expected such a powerful kick. He inhales through his mouth to ease the fire in his stomach. It rushes down his esophagus and straight to his gut - searing synthetic metal and silicon as it goes. 

Donald hums, sputtering slightly himself. "Oh boy, that's the expensive stuff, huh Odin?" 

Odin hastily blinks away the tears in his eyes. _Ow_. "Indeed." 

He sets his drink down and shares a look with Donald. 

The burn of the liquor down his windpipe is easier this time around. It tingles and plucks at his nerves, but Odin ignores the distant warnings. 

"So how'd you get into drinking?" Donald asks. He motions towards his drink. "That's pretty heavy, isn't it?" 

He recognizes that Donald's trying to make small talk and Odin lets himself indulge in the topic. "Mm, it _can_ be. Mine is," he shakes the glass, "strong, but if you wanted you could get the same thing. You'd just have to ask for either a substitute rum or something lighter. Oh, and," he pulls the cherry from his drink, "here."

"I'm not a huge fan of them," he elucidates. He dangles the cherry by the stem. "Do you want it?" He'd almost forgotten to give Donald the extra add-on. 

"Sure." Donald takes the cherry from Odin and bites down into it. There's nothing special about the action but it still makes Odin sweat. He swallows down the rest of his beverage. It’s harsh and rough and it’s enough to rid himself of the distraction. 

Donald places his cup down with a clink. The glass connects to the table and Donald lets out a huff. “I think I’m good. I still need to be sober when I get back to my people.” 

Odin doesn’t blame him. If this’d been any other day he would’ve never brought the idea up. It, however, wasn't, and Odin can indulge. If anything, he deserved this. If he was making such a sacrifice, it was only fair he'd be allowed to cut corners. “I’m going to grab a few more drinks; are you alright with that?” 

“I gotcha. I’d take a few more home myself if I was in your position,” Donald says. He picks up one of the sailboats Odin had made prior. The boat he holds overtakes the majority of the sailor’s hands and leaves Odin feeling warm. 

Whether it be the seat he’s stationed at or the sailboat he holds, Donald will forever be such a tiny little thing. Haphazardly cute. 

A waiter comes over to their area and Odin makes quick work of his order. A few more drinks, a water for Donald, whatever he finds fit. He’s running on the bare minimum and he’s losing Donald faster than he’d like to admit. Whatever gave him that edge the fastest. 

He pays in full with a flutter of his lashes and a hasty transfer between funds. He focuses on the payment and instead of the strange gaze he receives from Donald. 

The sailor lets loose a yawn and it sends Odin's mind scrabbling to pull up the time from somewhere inside his head. His inner clock gives him his answer and he's thoroughly disappointed to see it's half-past 10. He downs another drink.

The burn doesn't register until he's emptied the glass. 

"Are we all done here?" Odin asks. 

"Yeah, I think it's about time we head back. I need to get home, after all." 

And that was true. Odin just wished it didn't hurt so much. 

He filters the remaining rum into a single plastic solo-cup he'd managed to grab from the waitress. He fills it until it's nearly leaking over the edge of the rim. Hopefully, it'll be enough to kick the remaining sobriety from his system. 

Odin knows how irresponsible he's being. It's wrong, it's impolite, it's overall morally not justified. He knows that. It's just that Odin, Odin Eidolon, is a very weak man. He wasn't made for heartbreak. He wasn't made for love. He was made for numbers and calculations and science jargon, not sadness or longing or loneliness. 

Especially longing. 

He gathers his belongings, which include two of the boats Donald had, (Odin had told him they were just silly napkins to be thrown away but Donald had disagreed), and he takes his cup into his free hand. 

He waves goodbye to the bartender who eagerly returns it, and they make their way back up the stairs, hand in hand.

* * *

Donald shivers, and the cold whip of air from the outside hits him head-on. He clutches his keepsake boats tighter, (he's keeping them - he doesn't care what Odin says - they're very nice), and blows a puff of warm air from his beak. 

Odin doesn't seem fazed, or even bothered. He does, however, shoot him a concerned look. 

"It's rather cold, isn't it?" 

Donald nods. "Yeah. And it's snowing harder now." He kicks out a boot to shove into a bank of powder. A flurry of white propels into the air and smacks back at his face.

"Alright. Well, let's hurry back. I'll make a call to the time commander when we get to my place. That way, we can get you back to your time as quickly as possible." 

A smile breaks out onto his face. He couldn't wait to see his kids again. "Thank you, Odin." 

"No problem," Odin replies. His tone is a tad sharper than it should be but Donald blames it on the cold. 

Odin brings him along the side of the building, and Donald follows him. They're walking down a street gifted with a multitude of lights, bathing the sidewalk in a milky yellow. It's scenic, to an extent, if not creepy. 

The downfall of snow chills his insides and Donald shivers again. Even with the added warmth from Odin's jacket, it's still insanely cold. The lack of people around them was beginning to make sense. Only the deranged would be outside in this weather. 

Donald hisses when a particularly chilly clump of snow somehow finds its way under his coverings. It doesn't help that the freezing liquid decides to soak the backside of his coat, leaving him relatively uncomfortable. 

"Hey, Odin?" Donald asks. 

"Hmm?" The billionaire stops in his tracks, strangely attentive, and peers back to glance at him. 

"Did the weather forecast say when it was supposed to stop snowing?" 

Odin gives him a pensive look. "Not until later. Why?" 

Donald shakes his head. "No, nothing. Anyways, let’s keep going." 

Odin pauses for a second, opens his beak, and then promptly shuts it. He nods, takes a step, and then stops again. 

Donald raises a brow. "Uh, Odin?" 

The eccentric billionaire turns to him almost shyly. He's got a strange look in his eyes - as if he's seeing something Donald can't. Sheepishly, he rubs at the buttons on his shirt. "You're freezing, aren't you?" 

His boots were wet with wintery fluff, his suit was chilled, his knuckles were almost raspberry red - Donald would be lying if he said no. 

"A little," he agrees. 

Odin motions him closer, and Donald relents. Only when he's about a foot away does Odin pull him closer. He scoops the hero into his arms, and with surprising ease, cautiously snuggles the smaller duckling flush against his chest. 

Donald squawks, eyes going wide. A protest meets his tongue but never leaves his mouth. 

The cold he had been expecting never touches him. Instead, the overwhelming warmth of Odin's body seeps into his. Donald melts into the feeling, revealing in the heat. 

"You're warm," Donald mutters smartly. 

"Mmhm," Odin bites out. 

"How are you not freezing yet?" 

Odin doesn't reply, instead, he chooses to answer by wrapping both of his arms around Donald. At this point, Odin's basically squishing him, but Donald is surprised to find he doesn't mind. In fact, he doesn't mind at all. 

"Come on. You're going to catch a cold," Odin hums. He pushes Donald onward, and, reluctantly, Donald walks alongside him. Odin favors to pull him into a half-hug of sorts, as to continue leading him throughout the city. 

He's almost disappointed at the lack of contact. 

They come across an arched bridge Donald could've sworn wasn't there before. He pulls Donald along the metal structure, boldly striding across copper and wood. He brings them off to the side, down another slope, and finally to a large expansion of slush and snowdrift. If Donald focuses enough, he can just barely see something red peeking out from under the snow. 

"Odin, where are we?" 

"I took a shortcut," he answers. "Faster this way." He raises a thin finger to point at the cluster of overarching branches above them. "We'll be shielded by the snow. Plus, I think we should take a break." 

"A break?" Donald asks. Why? Was something wrong? 

Odin peers below his line of vision, and Donald copies his example. 

A sharp tingle makes itself known as soon as he sees his knee. Subconsciously, he must've been blocking out the pain. However, now that he's frozen in place, literally and metaphorically, he doesn't have that liberty. 

Donald leans down to pat at the growing dark patch around his knee. Odin's handiwork had held steady for quite a time. He pulls away the loose piece of gauze and watches as it flutters to the ground and disappears into the white of the snow - the only sign of its existence being the minuscule splatter of red embedded into the fabric. 

"Sit down on the swing. I'll fix the wrap." 

"Swing?" Donald frowns. 

Odin nudges his head over to the direction of an almost invisible swing-set. It's grey, old and rusty, but they're two swings still intact. 

Donald does as he says. He flops down onto the swing, observing the aged play-set toy as it creeks with his weight - It'll hold him, thankfully. 

"Are we at a park?" The sailor asks. 

"We are indeed," Odin answers sharply. He crouches down to meet eye-to-eye with Donald's injury. 

Donald reaches inside Odin's coat. He pulls out the bandages and peroxide that Odin had stashed, and he passes them to the kneeling duck. Odin uncaps the lid to the bottle, and with a wobbling hand pours a handful of the antiseptic onto the cloth. 

Donald raises a brow. "You alright?" 

"I - sorry. My vision is slightly off." 

Donald blinks, blinks again, and then he lets out a low 'oh'. "Are you drunk?" 

"No" Odin retorts hastily. 

There's a particular uncertainty to his voice that makes Donald pause. He can't tell if Odin's lying or not. Probably the former, as when Odin goes to snip away a part of the plaster, he only cuts through about half of it before he fumbles with it and drops it to the ground. 

He lets Odin pick it up and re-wrap his knee. The duck struggles for a second, trying to straighten out the plaster, and Donald can't help but sigh. He reaches down and takes Odin's hands into his, ever so gently, and then leads Odin's fingers around the base of his knee. 

The knuckles under Donald's grip tense and flex. Odin's hands are so much bigger than his own. Absentmindedly, he smooths out the tension in Odin's hand. He realizes a second too late that he's basically caressing Odin's hand. 

He goes to pull away, but then Odin's hand comes to hold onto his. Donald feels his mouth go dry. He's not exactly sure how to feel about that. Unlike before, where Odin had been pulling him along, he isn't moving. He isn't dragging Donald to the next date, or to some abandoned factory. No, Odin is truly holding his hand - he's caressing him, and not out of necessity.

"Stay," Odin breathes, eyes downcast. Donald can't see him but there's needy desperation in his voice that pulls at something in Donald's chest. 

"Alright," he hums. He leans down to allow Odin leverage to hold onto his hand. If this made Odin happy, he was okay with it. 

Odin moves in closer, grabbing Donald's hand in both of his. "You're still so cold," Odin whispers. He rubs the feathers on his palm and Donald nods. 

"I won't lie - it's freezing out. Kinda wish I had the suit," he says. He's been dressed in nothing but Odin's jacket and his borrowed jacket for the entirety of the evening. While both helped to insulate warmth, it was nothing compared to his uniform. 

"You're so...small, too. So-," he brings his fingers up to grab at Donald's wrist, messaging the bone underneath his feathers, "-tiny and fragile." 

Donald rolls his eyes. "I'm not that small. You're just tall." 

Odin finally meets his eyes, and Donald's shocked to see their red and puffy. "Maybe." 

Worry embeds itself into Donald's stomach and he slips from the swing. He joins Odin on the ground, soaking his already chilled knees with crystallized water. "Hey, Odin, don't cry." 

He doesn't know why Odin's crying again, maybe the alcohol, maybe the stress, maybe because he just was, but Donald hates it. He brushes a thumb against Odin's cheek and frowns. Donald finds that he _really_ hates it. 

"I'm not crying," Odin replies weakly. 

"Sure," Donald sighs. He wipes the tears away from Odin's face and pulls him into another embrace. "It'll be okay." 

"It won't," Odin mumbles. He snuggles closer into his chest, and Donald places his head onto Odin's shoulder. 

"Stop that. It will! You're Odin, Odin Eidolon. I'm sure there's someone else out there for you." 

Odin shakes his head. He's not sobbing, but by the shake of his back Donald can tell that he really is crying.

"I'm sorry." 

"For what?" Donald asks. He pulls Odin into his lap, frowning when Odin pushes away. 

"Odin?" 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry but I can't - I can't - please don't leave me again. It'll kill me. Donald, _please don't leave me again_ . _I love you._ " 

And then Odin inclines his head back, pushes himself forward, and kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha i tots didn't forget this fic excisted newp. Anyways here have the last chapt before this is over. I didnt bother rlly editin this chap as it was written a while ago and my writin style is a lil dif now so....*throws it into the wind and runs*


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- slight warning for questionable actions on Odin's part in the start here, but in the end it's all gud-

Everything is blurry. 

His head is drumming along to the beat of his heart; a repetitive thunking noise that makes him antsy. He's holding onto Donald - he can feel the ducks rapid pulse underneath the tips of his fingers - and he's gripping onto the front of Donald's jacket like a lifeline - kissing him. _Kissing him_. 

He pulls away, dizzy and disoriented. 

"Odin, wha-" He leans in again, effectively silencing Donald, and collides with his parted beak. He pulls Donald closer to his chest - runs his shaking fingers through his feathers - god, _god._

He's inhibited. Odin knows this. His programs are all skewered and wonky and his processors are scrambled. The fuzziness around his vision is only heightened by the feeling of Donald's breath against his face, sharp and cold - he goes in for a second kiss, a third - only when Donald is gasping for air does he pull away. 

"I love you," Odin breathes. It's the only thing he can say. It's all he can think about. 

Donald blinks up at him, dazed, confused. He's got such a look on his face that Odin can't help but kiss him again. 

"I'm sorry. _Please_ don't leave," he begs, wiping away the tears dribbling down his face. "Please. Please stay." 

Odin can't do it anymore. He's being selfish - he's risking everything - but he can't find it in himself to care. He grabs at nothing, at anything to ground himself, to help him _breathe_ , and Donald gently caresses his face. 

"You know me, don't you?" Donald whispers. 

Odin nods shakily. He nudges his forehead against Donald, tucking himself under the crook of the other's neck. He's so cold. Odin hates it. He shouldn't be that cold. 

"Odin, who was I to you?" It's phrased as a question but Odin knows it's so much more. 

He goes to speak but his throat catches on fire and he sputters. He can't say it. The moment he says it he knows it's over. All of this - whatever this was - would end. Donald didn't love Uno. He never did. And he won't love Odin either. 

"Odin, look at me," Donald tilts his chin upwards and he frowns. "What are you not telling me?" 

He opens his beak, _tries_ to speak, but all the tumbles from his mouth is a defeated sob. He's crying, that's no surprise, and he hates how weak he is. He hates how Donald does this; hates how much he loves him. How much he wants to kiss him - to be with him, to care for him. He hates it and he hates crying and he hates how Donald flinches away when Odin goes to kiss him again because he _doesn't love him_. 

"I- I don't...know," he says. He hopes Donald can hear him - can understand him. He wants to be heard but his voice isn't working and his head hurts. 

"Odin, why did you kiss me?" 

"You say that as if I did it once," he whispers. He knows Donald missed it, judging by his troubled face. Odin clears his throat. "I'm drunk. Forget it." 

He doesn't want Donald to forget it. He doesn't want to go back to being alone. He's so scared of losing Donald. He doesn't want to wake up without him. 

"Odin, I'm not leaving this alone. You _know_ my name." 

"Of course I do," the words tumble from his beak and he tells himself to _shut up_ but it's true. How could he forget? 

"Did you know me? Future me?" 

He should correct Donald. They're heavy implications and impossibilities behind the statement, but instead he shrugs. It's not worth it. He's leaving anyways. 

"Please stop avoiding this," Donald says. He looks as if he wants to say more but just as Odin did, he shuts his beak. Odin knows - can _see_ \- the anxiety in his face. The worry, the concern, the confusion. 

Odin takes a breath. He steadies his shuddering body and holds onto Donald's shoulders. He places his head to Donald's, forehead to forehead, chest to chest, and sighs. He's always been grounding, a rock - something that never really changed no matter how much one pushed and pulled. It helps Odin just slightly, and he leans into the touch. 

He's already losing so much. He can't - he can't lose this. He can't.

"I'm Uno," and then he inhales again, lungs rattling, "I'm...me. I - I love you, Donald." There. He did it. And yet he feels even worse than before. 

Donald tenses under him, his breath hitches, and his eyes grow large. His beak opens, closes, gaps open again - and he grabs onto Odin's face and truly, _really_ , looks at him. 

" _Uno_?" 

Odin can't help but kiss him again. Donald knows. That nickname. That sobriquet. His _name_ \- the name only Donald ever used. He's referring to Odin as Uno. He's calling him _Uno._

He's pleasantly surprised when the resistance in Donald fades, and he sheepishly relents to his kisses. Donald grows warm under his touch - static electricity racing through the mouth-to-mouth contact. Odin never wants it to end. 

He realizes, as he breaks away from Donald once again, (giving the other ample time to breathe) he's practically laying on top of him. He's backed Donald into a bank of snow, under the exact swing he'd just been sitting on. Embarrassment creeps up his spine and rests as his fingers. He uselessly digs them into Donald's waist as he raises him from the snow. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, you must be soaked." Odin hisses. He brushes some of the slush away from Donald's head. 

The sailor stares owlishly at his beak, the same beak that had been kissing him moments before. He's never seen Donald so stupefied. 

Odin's mouth is tingling. 

"I don't understand," Donald says slowly. 

And he wouldn't. Why would he? Why had Odin expected everything to magically fit into place when he'd kissed Donald. 

He shakes his head. "I- I know," it's all he can manage to get past his beak. He wants to say more, but what else was there to say? What could he say? At the end of the day, even if he was Uno, Donald couldn't love him. 

The dizziness amplifies tenfold and Odin groans. Spots occupy most of his vision, and he's relatively surprised when Donald cautiously pulls him against his lap. He's laying across his legs, probably putting some much not-needed pressure onto Donald's knee, but he can't stop himself from nestling into Donald's feathers. 

"You're going to hurt your knee," Odin slurs. 

"Are you really Uno?" 

The question leaves no wiggle room and Odin sighs. "Mmhm." 

"Can you prove it?" 

"I don't know. Does it even matter?" 

He feels Donald grow stiff under him, back arching. "Of course it _matters._ Odin, help me understand." 

"Mhm. Your name's Donald Fauntleroy Duck and you have three nephews." He knows Donald hates his middle name, and the mention of his kids have him tensing, but it's enough. It's the proof he needs. 

"It _is_ you _."_

Donald's reaction is almost enough to make him laugh. Instead, he just snuggles deeper into the cold embrace that the sailor holds him in. 

"Yeah, it is, old cape." 

The arms around him tighten and Donald beams down at him. He can't see it, but he can tell Donald is quite happy to be holding his old partner. 

"Why didn't you tell me? This - this is great! Wow, and you look great, too! And wait, _now_ the green highlight make sense!" 

Odin _does_ laugh at that. "Mm, you like my hair?" 

"Well, it's soft. And silky. But - forget about that! It's _you_. It's really you!" Donald hugs him even tighter, maybe a little too tight, and Odin relishes in the contact. 

"It's me. You couldn't tell?" He hadn't meant to ask that, but he is a little curious. He hadn't made it hard to put two and two together. 

"No! I mean, the Ducklair Tower was gone! And you- you were gone! And now - how are you here?" 

He doesn't mind the distraction, the change in topic, but then his head is throbbing and he's suddenly shuddering into Donald's chest. His programming tells him that he's drank too much -that the toxins in his body are fighting against his clarity - and that he should probably lay down. 

"Od-, uh, Uno?" 

"I'm fine, nhh, fine." He's far from fine. How much had he drank? He remembers one drink, and then maybe another, but after that he only remembers leaving the bar. Had he slipped passed Donald's raider and sneaked another drink in? Had he snagged one on the way out? 

Donald goes to say something but he stops him with a soft tap to his side. "I - can you help me up?" 

Donald nods eagerly, and he pulls Odin up along with him. The sailor winces, his knee stuttering and shaking, but he doesn't let him go until he's sitting on the swing. 

"Are you gonna be sick?" Donald asks. 

"Maybe. Hopefully not." 

"Wait, this means you're an _android_ , right? How are you even intoxicated right now?" 

Odin snickers. "The same way you've seen me eat. I can ingest biological byproducts." 

"But-," Odin stops him. He shakes his head, frowning. "Not right now." As much as he'd ' _love'_ to answer Donald's questions, he's really not up to it. He doesn't feel all too great, and his body's only going to hold onto those toxins for long. 

"Home - can we just go back? Please, Donald?" He hopes he doesn't sound too desperate. 

Donald startles, then quickly nods. "Sure, yeah! I just, are you _really_ Uno?" There's no malice behind the question, just curiosity, and Odin sighs. 

"Yes. If Master Everett were still alive, he'd confirm it." 

"Everett's _dead_?" 

"He - ah, somewhat. He's achieved a higher level of being, I believe. I don't drabble in that area of - anyways, can we leave?" 

Donald nods again and helps to steady him as he stands. To the right of him he can see a distant, flickering error sign. He'd delete it but he knows it'd only come back more insistently. 

"Uh, can you walk?" Donald asks. 

"I believe so." 

Donald wraps an arm around his middle, and Odin half-leans against his side. He couldn't put too much weight on the hero - he'd topple him. 

"Is alcohol harder on androids?" Donald asks. They both take the first step and he's rather thankful the sailor is there to support him. 

"I had mine specialised to affect me. It's a future thing." 

Donald snickers. "Didn't take you for a drinker." 

He's not sure how to reply to that. He'd only started drinking in the first place as to forget. 

"I'm...sometimes," he mumbles. 

There come across a darkened street, lit only by the overarching tower above them. Donald cranes his head up, squinting at the barely visible building. 

"Is this it?" 

Odin nods. "Correct." 

"I can't see anything. Oh - now that makes sense - you can see in the dark!" 

Why was Donald so frustratingly adorable? 

"Correct again, partner." 

Donald helps him up to the entrance of the building, and the warm glow of artificial light welcomes them inside. Odin waves a hand, effectively opening the doors without physical contact, and pointedly ignores the gazes of the confused patrons. He knows he's going to receive a good chunk of emails regarding his physical health later, but that was for future Odin, and not present Odin. 

"Wait, so, can I call you Uno now?" 

Odin opens the elevator adjacent to them and steps inside. He pushes the topmost button, his personal office, and kneels down to meet eye-to-eye with his old friend. 

"Not in public, PK. Just like you, I have an image to withhold." 

" _Oh_ , okay. Sorry." 

The soft chime of the elevator closing is loud in the otherwise silent area. Donald is still clutching his abdomen, keeping him afoot. He's looking at the floor, analyzing the metal. It's white, not particularly interesting, but the action tells Odin all he needs to know. 

"Are you mad at me?" 

Donald jumps, obviously startled by the random question. "Huh?" 

Odin can feel his anxiety levels begin to rise and he grounds himself by pulling at his collar. It's enough to keep him focused momentarily, at least. He uneasily exhales. 

"You seem mad. Are you?" 

Donald isn't looking at the floor anymore, but he isn't looking at Odin either. "I'm not _mad_ ," he starts softly, "I just…" 

"Disappointed?" Odin supplies. 

"I guess, Odin," Donald relents, fidgeting.

"I mean, aren't we friends? If anything I would've thought that you'd... tell me." Now that Donald had had time to absorb everything, Odin should've expected this. Still, it makes Odin's chest hurt just a little. 

The elevator dings and the door opens to his floor. He motions Donald forward, and the sailor follows him. 

"Odin," Donald stops him with a gentle tug at his wrist. "Are we going to talk about this?" 

He should say yes. He should sit him down, _talk_ with him, but he's never felt such an aversion to doing so. Donald had always been the one to take risks - to jump into fire. Odin doesn't know how to do that. He wasn't made for that. He was made for numbers and calculations and cold hard facts, not - not this. 

Donald's grip hardens. "Uno, look at me." 

His head snaps to meet Donald's eyes, and whatever resistance he'd felt melts along with his heart. 

"I don't..." He's so nervous. He's so scared. He doesn't - how does he - 

Donald encases him in a hug, soft and warm and tender. The synthetic bones in his jaw relax, and he closes his eyes. Donald is still freezing, in actuality, but the temperature of his body goes unnoticed in favor of the contiguity. 

"Alright," he says, voice strong. "We'll talk."

* * *

Donald clicks the door shut to Odin's room. 

He pulls away his mask, leaving it by the door, and does the same with his jackets. They fall to the floor with a disgusting squelch, leaving water and snow in their wake. He pushes them to the side, out of the way of any visitor, and walks over to Odin's drawers. 

They're clothes on the floor, on his bed - practically everywhere. He sidesteps a shirt, barely missing a pair of jeans as he does so, and opens the first drawer. It's full of coats and jackets. Nothing interests him, so he shuts the drawer. 

He moves onto the drawer below the first. It's full of green and blues, color coded articles of clothing. He furrows his brow. Most of the pieces look much too big.

He pulls out a sweater, a relatively plain-looking pullover, and frowns. It's not great, but it's not bad. He slips it over his head, shaking water droplets onto the floor as he does so, and pulls it down over his tummy. 

It's loose and hangs down just above his knees, but it'll work. He closes the drawer, dodges the disarray on the floor, and falls onto Odin's bed. 

Uno had been his partner, so why wasn't Odin? Why was Odin so uneasy around him? Why had he not _told_ him. 

Donald wasn't mad. He couldn't be. He hadn't told Odin who he'd been, or his secrets, so why should Odin have done the same? Either way, Odin was Uno, and he couldn't deny the sting of hurt inside his chest. 

Donald plants his head down onto Odin's pillow. He's been waiting for a time, and he almost wants to go check on Odin. He hadn't looked well. 

A quiet knock at the door has him raising his head to peer over the bed. Odin opens the door, peeks around the doorframe, and upon seeing Donald, relaxes. He shimmies around to where Donald sits and closes the door behind him. He's dressed in nightly attire and his hair is untouched and tangled, messy from the snow and the wind outside. 

"You still have the boats?" 

Donald moves to give Odin a place to sit. "And the flower," he points to the nightstand adjacent to him, "I kept both." 

"You're ridiculous," Odin says. He pulls a blanket from his closet and lays it down onto his bed. He then, carefully, eases himself next to Donald. The mattress groans with the added weight, but Odin doesn't seem concerned. 

"Are you okay?" Donald asks. 

"I am. I will, however, not be drinking for a while." 

Donald smiles. "Yeah, I wouldn't think so. You still look kinda pale." He reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair out of Odin's eye. "Did you call the commander?" 

Odin sighs. "I did. He wasn't happy, but then again, he'd best rethink his life choices if he's going to try arguing with me. You're free to stay for the night." 

Donald feels relatively neutral with the announcement. He misses his kids, but he also misses his old partner. He trusts Scrooge well enough, so he chooses to ignore the worry in his stomach. 

The lapse into an awkward silence. Odin is fiddling with something to the side of him, and Donald isn't sure if he wants to be the one to speak. He thinks that Odin should do it, but then again, he's already had trouble with doing so in the past. Donald doesn't mind prompting him, but he'd rather not. 

The sharp click of the tele turning on directs Donald's attention away from Odin and to the front of the room. A large screen drops down from the ceiling, unfurling itself with no difficulty. 

"Would you mind if I played a rerun of Anxieties?" 

Donald sputters. "Those still _exist_!?" 

Odin laughs. "I have every season on record." 

If Donald had any doubts, they're gone as soon as they'd appeared. Only one other person in the entire _world_ would be this obsessed with Anxieties. 

"Wow," Donald breathes. He's hesitant to tell Odin how impressive that is. 

"Mmhm." Odin flexes his finger and an old episode of the telenovela begins to play. 

He's already seen the episode, and he's certain Odin has as well. 

"I'm sorry." 

The volume of the opening credits diminishes to background noise as Donald shifts to stare at Odin. 

"It's alright." 

"But it's _not_ ," Odin hisses, "I should've told you. I shouldn't have - I was just so…" 

Donald watches as Odin swallows, unsaid words plummeting into nothingness with the action. 

"So what?" Donald prompts. He's not letting Odin run anymore. 

He's not going to force Odin into talking, but he's not going to let him escape. Odin could stay silent for as long as he wanted, but at the end of the day, he wasn't going to avoid the situation anymore. 

Odin inhales, wheezing slightly. Donald lays a reassuring hand across his shoulder and the taller duck smiles. "I was...scared." 

The confession strikes Donald as stange. He had said this beforehand, earlier, but now that he has time to think about it it doesn't make sense .What did Odin have to be afraid of? Had Donald done something to him in the past? Had he been misjudging Uno? 

"Did I hurt you?" Donald asks. He doesn't mean for the waver in his voice to show but it does and Odin flinches. 

" _What!?_ _No_! No - not at all! It - I didn't - I _missed_ you. I _wanted_ to say something, but I didn't want to mess everything up. You had your life, I had mine...and then you were _leaving_ and I thought - I thought it'd be easier if you didn't know." 

What did Odin have to mess up? Uno had always been the one to fix Donald's messes, not the other way around. Uno had always been the mature one, the one keeping him from failing. Why did Odin think that this'd be any different? 

"Odin, you wouldn't mess up my life. You were the one keeping from messing up my _own_ life." 

Odin shakes his head. "I know that, I know, it's just that I - I don't know. Everything's so _different_ here. I didn't want to bother you." 

Donald leans over to cradle Odin's face in his hands, smoothing to worry lines in the android's face. "You could _never_ bother me. You've always made me happy. You're my greatest friend. No one could ever compare to you." 

Odin blinks. The snow outside drums against the windows, and someone on the television screams, but Donald couldn't care less. All that matters is him and Odin. Here and now. 

He realizes that Odin's leaning in to kiss him only when they're about an inch away and Donald decides that he's going to be the one to initiate it. He closes the distance, meeting Odin halfway, and throws his arms over the man's shoulders. 

Odin groans against his break, eyes fluttering closed. They kiss for a while, long enough the Donald's almost worried he's going to bruise his beak, and reluctantly he ends the kiss. As he does so, however, a question pops into mind. 

"Wait, Uno, why'd you think I didn't like you?" 

Odin snaps out his stupor, fingers twitching against Donald's waist. "You _like_ me?" 

"Considering I'm kissing you, I'd say so." He doesn't mean to be so blunt, but Odin laughs anyways. 

"Right. Maybe I haven't made the best judgements." 

Donald rolls his eyes. "Yeah, maybe not." 

He doesn't know Odin. He doesn't know what he likes, what he dislikes, how he lives. He doesn't know him, and he doesn't need to. He knows Uno, inside and out, and while Uno had obviously changed, he was still _Uno._

And Donald _did_ love Uno. 

The meet again, beak to beak, and Odin sighs against his lips. He tastes like mint and fancy toothpaste. It's a strange mix, but Donald doesn't mind it. In fact, it almost seems right. As if he _should_ taste that way. 

Odin breaks away and kisses his neck. Donald feels himself grow warm, and he extends his arm to rake his fingers down Odin's hair. It's so soft. 

"Don't leave," Odin begs. He looks up to meet Donald's eyes. "Please." 

Donald frowns. He knows the impossibility in that request. Odin's shoulders tense and he inhales shakily. "I can't...I…" 

Donald shushes him with a quick peck to his cheek. "We'll make it work. We'll find a way, okay? I love you, Uno. I promise you, I won't leave." 

And he means it. Uno didn't love him, but Odin did. 

Uno had grown. He'd grown and matured and he'd learned how to love. 

Uno would always be his friend, but Odin wanted more than that. 

And Donald couldn't deny him when he'd always felt the same way. 

"Will you wait for me?" Donald whispers. 

Odin smiles. "Always."

Donald doesn't know what the future holds. He isn't psychic like Everett or smart like Scrooge, but he knows what love is. He knows how strong it is, how strong he feels. He isn't letting this go. He isn't going to back down. Someway, he's going to see Odin again. Either it be a week from now, or a year from now. He doesn't know how, or when, but it's enough for him to nod his head in confirmation. 

"I won't leave. Wait for me." 

And Odin laughs. "I've already waited 250 years, old cape. I can wait a few more." 

Not everything made sense, but not everything had to make sense. As long as Odin was by his side, he'd be okay. They'd make it work. They always had. And with his invaluable partner back, as it was before, no matter the threat, they'd always face it together. 

-fin- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god. I uh. Shoulda just posted this. But i just couldnt get an ending. Everythin felt wrong till i finally just went with it. Endings up to ur own interpretation rlly lul. Welp. This is finally over lol. Now i can just. Never look at it again. Thank u for reading! Wishin u all the best.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to SonicDrift2 and my irl friend ana for beta reading some snippets of this fic! I'll just, pretend like I never wrote this lol hahahah.


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